Reality: The Borg War
by Sikar
Summary: The Borg are back, and this time in greater numbers. Starfleet must make a dangerous and perhaps unethical move to survive. Rated for violence and some language. Novel completed. Read and review, please!
1. Reality, My Way

_Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, Paramount, or any of its afiliates. This novel is for non-profit entertainment purposes only, and is only to be published on this website. Any breach of protocol in this regard is beyond my control. Live Long and Prosper._

**STAR TREK REALITY:**

**THE BORG WAR**

PART ONE: THE REALITY

Prologue

In the 24th century…

The United Federation of Planets. The finest, most powerful conglomerate of powers in the galaxy. For over two centuries, the Federation, primarily through the Starfleet military branch, had kept peace and order in the Alpha Quadrant. It had survived several wars, intergalactic plagues and ethnic differences. It had seen the rise of new ideas and new technologies, some of them nearly unfathomable. It was, in a word, the greatest hope for continuing peace in the Milky Way galaxy.

But it was all about to come to a crashing end.

_On stardate 82591, a Level 6 classified meeting was held at Starfleet Headquarters on Earth, involving various top brass officials. The following is a partial excerpt from that meeting:_

Stardate 82591 Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, Earth 

**Present: Admirals Janeway, Nechayev, Keyes, Jellico**

**Janeway: Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please take your seats, we will begin. We've had some very distressing news over the last few weeks, and I'm afraid it concerns the Borg. Our scout ships have been detecting an increasing Borg presence in the two years since their last attack, and Starfleet has been attempting to compensate in every way possible. But three weeks ago, our suspicions turned into reality. A scout ship, using improved cloaking techniques, was able to maneuver into the transmission range of a number of Borg cubes. For two solid days, the crew was able to monitor the Borg's communications, and from them extrapolate the newest plot against the Federation. The crew, or rather what's left of them, is in recovery. A glitch occurred in the cloaking mechanism, rendering them visible for several seconds. It wasn't long enough for the Borg to destroy or assimilate them, but it was long enough that the ship got to limp home over the course of several days at low warp speeds. Thirteen of the fifty-four person crew died in the attack. We, that is, myself and Admiral Keyes, have analyzed the data from their mission, and we believe that there is significant evidence to anticipate a new attack on the Federation. Two years ago the Borg made a mistake. They underestimated humanity, assuming it necessary to only send one ship for Earth's assimilation. They attempted to change Earth's past and thus destroy the Federation before it began. Now, plans have changed. As there are many more people now than there were in the days directly following the third World War, the Borg have decided that there's no time like the present.**

**Jellico: But more people means more of a fight.**

**Janeway: True. But that does not, apparently, concern the Borg. They're out for mass assimilation, and I think that they're probably well aware they outnumber us. This invasion, ladies and gentlemen, will be like nothing the Federation has ever seen. We will be overrun by the Borg; every major sector in the Alpha Quadrant will be under simultaneous attack.**

**Nechayev: How long do we have?**

**Janeway: A month, maybe two. The President of the Federation has been alerted to the situation, as well as Chancellor Martok of the Klingon High Command and Praetor Donatra of the Romulan Star Empire. Their support is behind us. Also, we have been considering contacting the Cardassians, though that hasn't been decided on yet.**

**Jellico: What good will that do! We are seriously outmatched, Kathryn! You of all people ought to know what the Borg are capable of. This is terrible news! Half our damn fleet is gone, and the rest is still reeling from the war with the Dominion. We don't even know if we can trust the Romulans yet, and the Klingons? We've seen how well they fight the Borg. **

**Nechayev: Even with the aid of the Cardassians, any large-scale attempt by the Borg would most certainly succeed…**

**Janeway: Your concerns are felt by us all, Admiral. Fortunately, Starfleet is, as usual, one step ahead of us all. I'll turn this over to Admiral Keyes. David?**

**Keyes: Thank you, Kathryn. Ladies and gentlemen, Starfleet Special Operations has been working on a contingency plan for just this sort of threat, ever since the battle of Wolf 359 several years ago. It occurred to Starfleet at the outset of the Dominion War that the possibility of being seriously undermanned in the event of a Borg invasion was a grave one. After all, one Borg cube is equal in power to at least five of our heavy starships. Thus we needed a reserve available, both of ships and officers to man them. A special team spent the better part of a year developing what is now known as: "Project Wagon Train to the Stars". I see looks on your faces that doubtless mirror my own first reaction. In order to explain, we must begin with a little science. How familiar are you, admirals, with multiversal quantum signatures…**

Chapter One

**Reality, my way**

"Lieutenant Commander Mike Allen reporting for duty." I tugged at my tunic, staring into the mirror for a long moment. I checked my phaser's setting. Stun. I set it for "kill", just in case. After all, one can't really trust the Romulans, and there would be plenty of those around…

I hopped into my car and sped off towards the convention. With any luck, I'd get there early enough to get the autographs I still needed for my collection. Jerry Foster and I had a raging competition going, and since he wasn't going to be able to make it to this con, I was confident that I was about to pull ahead in the race. I smiled, and popped a little Rod Stewart into the CD player as I turned onto the freeway.

"Nah. But you know I never expect to find anything there anyway," I said. Jerry's laugh on the other end of the line told me that he thought I was crazy. It also told me that he was envious, which made my day.

"Well, all right. There were a couple of Orion girls there, and one of them was pretty foxy, but I never even got the chance to say hello."

"Sounds to me like you never got the guts to say hello," Jerry fired.

"Hey man, I don't see you dating anyone either."

"True, but give it time, man. Give it time. I've got my eyes on this girl at work. She's pretty hot, and I'm pretty sure she's a Next Generation fan."

"Ten bucks says you don't stand a chance," I laughed.

"You're on. Will you be paying me in cash or credits?"

"Neither. Remember, we don't use money in the 24th century."

"Ooh, tricky. By the way, did you get that Trek survey in the mail?" I nodded even though Jerry couldn't see my head shaking.

"Yeah. I already sent it back in. How'd you do?"

"Oh, pretty good I think. It was tough, but then we like tough, don't we?" The survey he was referring to had arrived at my house a few weeks previous. It claimed to be the most difficult Star Trek trivia out there, and was made doubly so by the fact that once you received it, you only had a week to get it filled out. The first place prize, however, was a weekend in Las Vegas at the Hilton. Never wanting to pass up a chance to see the Star Trek Experience, and thoroughly enjoying every chance to display my knowledge of Trek, I filled it out over the course of two days. It was indeed quite difficult, but I was pretty sure I had answered most, if not all of the questions accurately.

"Yeah. I finished it in two days. You?"

"Day and a half, baby! Of course, you probably got a lot more correct than I did…"

"Probably," Jerry's knowledge of Trek was second to none, except my own. He was amazing when it came to remembering dates and events, but his science was just a little off. We had spent hours debating things like temporal anomalies and discontinuities, and I had nearly always won. Still…

"Well, I have to go, Mike. I need to get dressed for tonight."

"What's tonight?"

"Oh, nothing much. Just a date with Sarah."

"What?"

"Did I forget to mention that I already asked her out?" Click.

"Damn!" I muttered, pulling out my wallet and checking to see if I had a ten.

For a Star Trek fanatic, I had always considered myself fairly normal. I owned a uniform (actually, several), but only wore it to Trek-related gatherings. I watched the shows faithfully of course, but I didn't _live_ them publicly. Conversely, I was far from ashamed of my fanaticism, and would readily spend hours discussing the show with anyone who showed any interest. I also enjoyed using it as a conversation stopper when I was bored. If my co-workers, deep in a discussion about sports, would ask me who my teams were, I would reply with as straight a face as I could muster that I was really rooting for the Qo'noS Targskins this season. That usually did the trick, though it had the result of keeping me perpetually friendless at work.

As for the urban legend that a Star Trek fan never has a girlfriend…well, that was only partially true for me. I could _get_ a girlfriend fairly easily. It was _keeping_ them that proved to be quite a challenge. In the past four years, I had gone through three girlfriends. While this made my odds of ever succeeding with the ladies seem pretty poor, I seldom got disheartened. And when I did, there was always Star Trek. It had been my boon companion since early childhood; I grew up with Captain Kirk and Mr. Data and Ben Sisko, and considered them more than just characters I watched on TV. Will Riker _was my friend._ These people _were_ real, somewhere in the most imaginative regions of my brain.

Back to girls: I was quite single that night. I had been for some months (I couldn't say how many; I generally tried not to remember such things), and was just beginning to get into the groove of things again. And for the most part, I was relatively happy about the whole business. I sat in my overstuffed armchair in the living room of the kingdom that was my apartment, sipping gently at an icy brandy (yeah, I like it that way) and listening to Barry Manilow. It was so peaceful that I almost anticipated the knock on my door.

Swearing under my breath, I hauled myself from my chair and ambled to the door. The sight that greeted my eyes was almost comic: two guys in uniform (Starfleet, that is. An admiral and captain rank, to be specific) stood there, hands clasped behind their backs.

"Michael Thorne Allen?" the admiral asked.

"Yeah, that's me. Who are you?" The admiral smiled at the captain, then turned back to me.

"My name, sir, is Admiral David Keyes of the United Federation of Planets. This is Captain Louis Phillips of the starship _Scandinavia_." I don't know if it was the brandy in me or my spirit of fun, or both, but I immediately decided to play along and stood at attention.

"Lieutenant Commander Mike Allen reporting for duty," I said. The fellow in the captain suit seemed surprised, but the admiral just smiled.

"At ease, lieutenant. May we come in?" I'm not particularly fond of letting strangers into my apartment, especially late at night. But then again, anyone who would come in Starfleet attire probably knew me somehow. I stood aside and let them enter.

"You gentlemen care for a drink?" I asked. The captain shook his head no, but the admiral's face seemed to brighten.

"Love one," he replied. I grabbed the brandy and a glass from the cabinet.

"Ice?" I asked. The admiral nodded. "So, what brings admiralty to my door this late at night," I asked with some humor as I poured.

"Mr. Allen, Starfleet would like to employ your knowledge and talent. How would you like to have the chance to command a starship?" I waited for the smile, but one didn't come. Suddenly it dawned on me that these guys were not playing a joke on me. I looked at their uniforms: very crisp. Obviously expensive. They must be convention workers.

"Gentlemen, there's nothing I would rather do than work a convention, but I have a full-time job. I barely have enough time to _go_ to the cons, let alone…"

"Mr. Allen, we're not talking about conventions," the captain finally spoke. "We're talking about literal duty aboard a real starship." I saw nothing but sincerity in their eyes, and a funny thing happened. The very thing that I was to most of society, I now looked at them as: weirdos. I glanced at the door, trying to mentally calculate how long it would take to get there, and how fast I could traverse the stairs once I did. The admiral must have discerned what I was thinking, because he moved closer to the door, effectively blocking me in.

"What do you guys want?" I asked, with a fair amount of tension in my voice. Neither of them seemed to be armed, other than the toy phasers at their sides, but I was pretty sure I wasn't big enough to take both of them. The admiral tossed me something. I quickly reached out for it, missing. It clinked on the floor behind me. Slowly, keeping my eyes glued on them, I backed up to it and bent over. It was a communicator badge; I assumed it was made out of aluminum as light as it was.

"What's this for?" I asked. Instead of answering, the admiral tapped his own communicator.

"Three to beam up. Energize," he said. I nearly laughed, nervous as I was. If this was a joke, it was getting less and less funny all the time.

"Listen, Mister. I don't know who the…"

And just like that, my apartment shimmered and disappeared.

"…hell you think you are, but…" I stopped. My apartment was no longer around me, and I was, in fact, standing in an entirely different environment altogether. The room I was in stretched almost as far as the eye could see. The ceiling must have been thirty feet up. Entire football fields, at least two of them, could have fit into this room. The most amazing thing, however, was how many people were standing around me. Most of them carried the same dazed expression that I'm sure was on my face. I turned to see the admiral and the captain, smiling at me.

"W-what?" I could say no more. The admiral clapped me on the shoulder.

"Welcome to the twenty-fourth century, Mr. Allen." He and the captain turned, and before I could say anything, they disappeared into the crowd. I was left alone among the masses, clueless as to what had just happened.

I say clueless, because my brain was fighting with everything it had the very obvious conclusion that it was coming to. This was _not_ real, no matter how real it might seem or how real I wanted it to be. It was a very, very elaborate trick, but a trick nonetheless. Judging from the faces all around me, I would guess that they had all just been subjected to the same trick. Gradually, a dull murmur arose, which got louder and louder until it became a roar as what looked to be several thousand people began asking questions. More than once someone would come up to me and ask me what had just happened. I didn't answer them, mostly because I didn't know, but partly because I feared that maybe I did.

Suddenly, a voice boomed above the din.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if you could please quiet down, we'll get started. I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here." I looked for the source of the voice, and eventually found it. There was a podium to my right, elevated on a carpeted stage of sorts, and at it stood another fellow in an admiral's uniform. Amazingly, the booming crowd quieted almost instantly. Everyone turned toward the podium and stood, waiting for an explanation. The admiral waited for a second, then continued.

"My name is Admiral Christopher Maxwell. As each of you have been told, you are now in the twenty-fourth century. Welcome." A few laughs could be heard, but not very many given the size of the crowd. "I understand your cynicism, ladies and gentlemen, but I assure you that you _are_ in the twenty-fourth century. Proof of that will come later, don't worry. But before we get to that, allow me to explain the more important element, which is _why_ you've been brought here. Each of you has been selected because you will understand precisely the implications of what I'm about to tell you.

"The Federation, yes, the same Federation you're all familiar with, is about to enter what will probably turn out to be the largest, bloodiest war it has ever seen. Millions and millions of lives will be lost, and countless more will become something far worse than dead. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I'm speaking of the Borg." A few more laughs cascaded across the crowd, but not as many as before. This time I joined them, nervously. No matter how odd it seemed that someone would spend the time and money to pull off such an elaborate hoax, that was exactly what this had to be. The Borg were fictional characters; I had met some of the people who had played them. Hell, I had dressed as one at a con several years before! And now, this man was standing before me, telling me that the Borg were a threat. I loved role playing the Star Trek universe, but this was getting out of hand. I looked away from the podium, and suddenly something caught my eye.

Up until that moment, I had been too busy being confused to notice that there were windows at the far end of the room. Something about them didn't look right, and with a start I realized what it was. There was sunlight pouring in through them! I glanced at my watch, already knowing that it was well past ten at night. My stomach turned, and I felt dizzy for a second. _Still a hoax, Allen. Still a hoax. They can do that, you know…_

"…ships were detected along the far edge of the Klingon border three days ago. Our scouts thought it was very peculiar that the ships seem to have just stopped, but Starfleet Intelligence believes that they are actually just waiting for the attack to commence. It has been determined that we have roughly a month to prepare for this.

"Starfleet, frankly, is aware that we stand no chance in this conflict. Even with the support of the Romulans and the Klingons, and perhaps even the Cardassians, the Borg are too powerful. It would seem that the Federation is doomed. But you, citizens of your world and your time, have kindled a hope for the Federation. Thus far, we have brought three thousand of you from your time and your universe, to ours. It is our sincere hope that, as devout fans of what you call Star Trek, a fictional universe based very closely on the reality that is our universe, you will join us in our time of need, and become the leaders that you all know you were born to be." He paused for several seconds, letting the weight of his speech sink in to the audience.

I felt, to my own shock and dismay, my disbelief beginning to melt away. The thoughts of _this isn't real_ still ran circles around my brain, but they were getting slower and more distant. The moment I had dreamed of for nearly twenty years was finally here. Was it possible? Could it be that this dream, this fantasy of mine, was coming true? I knew I wasn't dreaming. That much is obvious to a person when they really are awake. But was I hallucinating? I didn't think so. How much brandy had I had?

"I'm sure you all have hundreds of questions, and believe me, they will all be answered over the course of the next month. Each of you will go through some very rigorous training over the next two weeks. Following that, you will be placed under a captain aboard a starship for a week. At that point, approximately one hundred of you will assume command of your own starship. The rest of you will comprise the crew of those and other starships. It is our goal to mix crews as much as possible, to bring as much experience to the command chain as we can."

Already, I was beginning to see people who had completely bought into the admiral's speech. Some of them stood at attention, others wept. Few sights can compare to seeing several thousand people realize that their lifelong fantasy has just come true. _But they're misguided, Allen. Their fantasy…your fantasy…isn't real. _

"And if any of you should wish to return to your world, you have but to ask. Starfleet asks only for volunteers; you will be returned to your exact time, with no memory of this whatsoever. I will now turn you over to your training sessions. Thank you all."

With that, he stepped away from the podium and disappeared from sight. Immediately the crowd began to speak again, until we heard another voice. This one must have come over an intercom, as we could see no one at the podium.

"If you would all please walk in an orderly fashion toward the doors at the far end of the room, you will be seen to your individual quarters. Anyone wishing to leave please inform the attendants when you get to the doors." Around me, the crowd slowly began moving in the general direction of the doors. I sighed in confusion, shrugged my shoulders, and followed. It took a very long time to get to the doors, as the crowd moved slowly. Around me I could see people who were taking this much worse than myself. Some were clawing to get to the front of the line, demanding loudly that they "see whoever is in charge of this thing". Some were sitting on the floor in a daze, dead to their surroundings. I decided immediately that no matter what it was that I was about to see, I would not end up in as bad a shape as that.

My "quarters" turned out to be a sparsely furnished room with bunk beds and a single desk. There was a computer console on the desk, and a chair with a giant Starfleet chevron on it.

Of course I had stayed. There was no way I was going to leave this alone, whether it was real or not. I had stepped outside, finding that it was, in fact, day, and had since just wandered wherever they told me to go, utterly dazed. Already I had walked by a transporter pad and seen a person materialize out of thin air. I had seen shuttle pods flying mere yards away outside. I had seen a multi-billion dollar hoax, if that was indeed what it was. Now, I was looking through a closet full of fresh Starfleet uniforms, half of which were oddly in my size. I noted that they all bore the rank of captain. Determining that I had better join that which I could not beat, at least for the moment, I took one of the uniforms and put it on.

I had barely finished the final pip when I heard the whoosh of the automatic door. In the light of the anterior stood Jerry. Fighting the urge to hug someone with a familiar face, I settled for raising an eyebrow.

"Don't ask me, man," he said, sitting on the bed, wide-eyed. Then he grinned. "If this is a dream, you'd better not pinch me!"

"I've been scared to pinch _myself_. This is pretty surreal, my friend."

"Tell me about it," he said, finding a uniform from his half of the stack and changing into it. "I hope that someone tells us what's going on before too long."

"You don't suppose…" I trailed off.

"That they're for real?" I nodded, ashamed of myself. Jerry's grin widened. "I sure hope so." At that moment, the door chimed.

"Come," Jerry and I said simultaneously. We looked at each other, smirking. The door opened, and there stood the man who had called himself Admiral Keyes. He looked to be in his late fifties, with short pepper-gray hair, bags under his eyes, and a slight paunch. He walked in without a sound, passed Jerry and I, and sat down at the desk.

"Jerry and Mike, how's it going?"

"We're not sure," I replied. Jerry nodded.

"What he's trying to say is where the hell are we?" Keyes folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward.

"You are where we say you are. You are at Starfleet Headquarters, in San Francisco, California. The year is 2379, and this is an alternate universe."

"A universe in which _Star Trek_ is real? That seems a little far-fetched," I said.

"Not exactly that, Mike. You see, you live in a universe where _our _universe is nothing more than a television show. It seems far-fetched because you've always thought of it as such. After all," he said, sweeping his arm to indicate the room and that which lay beyond, "this is exactly what you've always wanted, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," Jerry replied. "But how?" The admiral smiled.

"In the year 2367, Starfleet's underestimation of the Borg was first realized. We lost eleven thousand people that day, and suddenly Starfleet was forced to take a very sober look at our future. For three months, a team of our finest thinkers worked night and day to find a solution to the two great questions: what if the Borg came again, and what if this time they came in greater numbers?

"The first countermeasure ideas centered around building a secret fleet of ships to be at our disposal. One hundred and twenty-four ships were commissioned to be built at a secret starbase. We had completed about a third of them when the Dominion War broke out." Keyes sighed; perhaps the war had taken its toll on him. _What war! The Dominion War isn't real, remember!_

"I think you're aware of the damage done to Starfleet by the Dominion. Towards the end of the war, we were forced to bring twenty of the ships we had been building into active duty. That left one hundred and four ships to be finished. We have ninety-eight of them completed, and the other six are very near to it." I had been intrigued by his story, but I was getting a bit impatient.

"This doesn't explain much…"

"Please bear with me, Mr. Allen. I'm getting to it. What you saw on television about the Federation coming out of the war very strong was a bit of an exaggeration. In fact, the Dominion War nearly crippled us beyond repair. We barely have enough ships to put up a front of stability, let alone actually attempt to guard ourselves." Keyes sighed again. "And as for the Starfleet ideal of 'going where no man has gone before', well, that's little more than a catchphrase now.

"We lost a lot of people in the Dominion War, gentlemen. All the starships in the universe are no good to the Federation if there are no officers to man them. So, we had to create a supply of surplus Starfleet officers. As you can no doubt imagine, this was a daunting task. Once again, Starfleet Intelligence went to the drawing boards, arguing various possibilities deep into the night. At last, they came up with an idea that formed the groundwork for the final outcome.

"The idea was to enter the multiverse, by using a transporter rigged to fluctuate a person's quantum signature. Originally, we intended to find counterparts for our existing Starfleet officers, and ask the Starfleet of their universe to 'loan' them to us. Unfortunately, there were several very serious problems with that. First of all, many of the officers we would have pulled into our universe, were dead here. That would have been catastrophic to say the least. And as for the living counterparts, well, it would have been very confusing at best. Ultimately, classification issues rendered the entire question moot anyway, so the idea was scrapped.

"Then someone came up with a very intriguing idea. What if, they conjectured, we didn't recruit actual Starfleet officers? What if, instead, we came up with a way of informing millions of people about the events in our universe? Their sympathy with our cause, in addition to their highly informed status concerning Starfleet Operations, would make them perfect recruits when the time came." Keyes paused for a moment, letting his speech so far sink in. I had not realized it, but my knuckles were white from clenching my hands so hard. I no longer felt wary of this man. In fact, I was starting to believe him…

"At first the idea was rejected as ridiculous. The project was too intense, and could never be pulled off in time. But the fellow who had come up with the idea was adamant that it would work. He said he had figured out the entire system, how to _make_ it work, and so forth. So Starfleet listened.

"He suggested that we not only transport to an Earth in the multiverse, but that we also time travel several hundred years into the past, during the age of television. The events happening in our universe were to be portrayed as a fictional television show. Over the course of forty or fifty years, he presumed that the show would build up a following far larger even than the amount of people we anticipated needing.

"Needless to say, Starfleet began to listen a little more intently at this point. There were obvious flaws of course. The Prime Directive, for example, would seem to be totally against the idea. Mr. Roddenberry, however…"

"Gene Roddenberry is a Star Trek character!" Jerry and I said together.

"A character?" the admiral laughed. "Hardly. But he was the brains behind the Star Trek idea. As I was saying, he reasoned that the Prime Directive didn't apply in the multiverse, and even if it did, we could always find a universe where…" The admiral trailed off.

"Where what?" I demanded. The admiral looked at me with a certain amount of pity in his eyes.

"Where Earth would be destroyed in a few hundred years anyway." My heart sank. My mind was reeling, and I could tell that Jerry was distraught as well.

"I am sorry to lay that knowledge on you, but you might take some interest in knowing that it is the Borg in your universe who destroy Earth. As difficult as it may be for you to deal with that, I'm afraid that we must move on with this story. It took some time, but eventually Roddenberry convinced us that it just might work. It was decided that the best thing to do was portray our universe as accurately as possible to your universe. We nearly hit a snag there; we needed characters that looked like our people. Fortunately, Starfleet had just the answer. Eight years ago, Starfleet saved the planet Hiren III from a solar eruption that would have destroyed them. In return, according to a very deep-held religious custom, the Hiren willfully subjected themselves to serving Starfleet eternally.

"Interestingly, the Hiren are shapeshifters. It was found that while they really were not good at all at any sort of starship function, their ability to mimic other races was flawless. Starfleet had therefore been employing them as spies for several years, when the 'Wagon Train to the Stars' project came online. A group of Hiren were to travel to your Earth in the 1960's and begin the process. Starfleet would monitor their progress from our universe and time, making adjustments as necessary. We changed Roddenberry's name for the show to 'Star Trek', and began the mission.

"I hardly need to tell you what has happened in your universe since then. We spent about a month working with forty years of your time. We had to work very hard to come up with the product you saw. It wasn't easy to determine how to tell such a vast history, but we finally opted to tell it from the point of view of the Federation flagships. Then, as events necessitated, we began letting you in on happenings at Deep Space Nine. The entire purpose of the show 'Voyager' was to give out even more information on the Borg. We needed you to be as informed as possible when you arrived.

"The time that we feared would come finally is here. Evidence indicates that within a month, this quadrant will be swarming with Borg. If you choose to fight with us, you will spend most of that month in training. We picked you because, like the four thousand some other people you saw out there today, you _know_ Star Trek. You've lived it in your fantasy lives, and you understand it. You're even comfortable in it, I've noticed," he said, looking at our uniforms. "And don't worry about all the questions you have; you'll have plenty of time to ask them and have them answered to your satisfaction." With that he rose, and extended his hand toward Jerry.

"How about it?" Jerry thought for a long moment, staring at the admiral's hand. He glanced at me and, as if determining that he'd better do it before he lost his bravery, he quickly grasped the extended hand and pumped it vigorously. The admiral smiled and turned, offering the same to me.

_Is this really happening, Allen? Is it possible? Can you agree to fight for a cause you would normally find laughable? Then again, if it's true, no matter what universe it is, the Borg are going to destroy your planet._

_Like hell they are!_

I reached for the admiral's hand.


	2. Academia: Day One

Chapter Two 

I sat, freezing, in a brightly lit classroom, awaiting the commencement of classes. Three hundred years, and they were still using the same old tactic to keep students attentive. Of course, that was assuming that things were done the same way three hundred years ago in _this_ universe. Already I was aware of certain differences between it and _my_ universe. For example, the Eugenics Wars, from which came the villainous Khan Singh, never happened in _my_ universe. The nineties had passed without a trace of Mr. Singh, for which I should doubtless be grateful. Other differences, most of them slight, were beginning to appear as well. Many of the events leading up to the third World War, which should have already happened on the Earth of _my_ universe, had not. It was a spark of hope to think that this might mean there would be no such war there, but as soon as the thought entered my brain, I once again visualized an assimilated Earth. This had the effect of depressing me at first, but gradually I began to feel as though this fight, which I was about to embark upon in this universe, was really just the first step towards saving _my own_ planet.

I glanced around the room at several new faces. Everyone was now clad in Starfleet attire, though their ranks were varied. I had thought that Jerry's uniforms also held the rank of captain, but apparently I had seen them incorrectly. His uniform placed him at commander level, though, which was still fairly elevated. The people around me ranged from ensigns to lieutenant commanders. To my left, two rows down, sat a tall, lanky young man with fiery red hair. His gaunt, freckled face was animated with the story he was telling to those around him.

"...and ahm tellin' y'all, ah 'bout crapped mah britches when ah found mahself in that room" he drawled loudly. Most of the room on that side erupted into laughter. I chuckled a little myself; he seemed an unlikely candidate for Star Trek fandom, but I seriously doubted that he would have been there otherwise.

"A'course, I didn' pannywaist out like some of 'em. I figger we ain't got much of a choice. 'Em sonsabitches'll get Earth no matter where we are. Might as well fight 'em where we can put a real boot up their ass" More laughs. He seemed likeable. Jerry, who was sitting directly in front of me, was grinning, even though his gaze was fixed upon the padd in his hand. _Already studying_, I thought. _He's taking this very well._

I glanced to my immediate right, and my heart fluttered. There sat the most beautiful girl I had ever seen in a Starfleet uniform (well, real-life girl, anyway. But then, what did _real_ mean these days?). She had blonde hair tightly pulled back into a ponytail, except for two strands spilling across the sides of her lovely face. Her full lips were turned upward in what appeared to be a perpetual smile.

"Hi" she said as I regained my composure, hoping that my expression had not betrayed me.

"Hello. You new here too" I asked. _Lame, Mike. Really lame._ Fortunately, she smiled.

"Yeah. I'm Ju- uh, _Lieutenant_ Julie Brock" she said, proffering her dainty hand. I took it, gazing into her gorgeous green eyes.

"And I am, uh, _Captain_ Mike Allen." Simply saying the words gave me a sudden surge of confidence I could barely believe. It had not dawned on me that, since I was the only one in the room with a captain's uniform on, I must be a candidate for the captaincy of a ship. My eyes suddenly widened.

"I'm sure it will be a pleasure to serve under you" Miss (I presumed) Brock said, turning back to her padd. Suddenly I was unable to continue my people watching. A much more pressing item was screaming for attention at the front of my brain. I tapped Jerry on the shoulder.

"Why the hell didn't you tell me I was the only captain in here" I whispered. Jerry smiled.

"Why didn't you listen when I told you about it last night" he whispered back. "This room is for the upper level command staff of one ship. There are ninety-some other rooms exactly like this one, training crews together. It makes everyone comfortable with everyone once we finally get aboard the actual ship. Look around you, Mike. These are the people who will be under _your _command."

"But how did I make captain in the first place" I demanded. Jerry shrugged.

"Beats me. They must've done some sort of serious background check on all of us before they chose us, and you must have really impressed them. I was hoping to get a ship of my own, but I guess they decided to lump me with you. That suits me, though. After all, my guess is that I really don't want the responsibility that goes with the job."

"Responsibility" At the back of my mind, a serious red flag began waving violently.

"Oh yeah" Jerry whispered. "You're responsible for the lives of the people in here, as well as however many other people are aboard your ship. You have to make decisions that will save or kill them all, or worse..." Suddenly, the glorious image of captaincy faded from my mind. I didn't like the way this was going. Risking my own life was one thing. Being responsible for the lives of others, especially a lot of others, was something else entirely. I did not have time to finish the thought, however, as the classroom doors suddenly swooshed open, and in walked our instructor.

By this point, I had imagined myself to be fairly jaded to seeing new things. I had even finally seen an alien (only from a distance, but it was a Bolian, and therefore easily recognizable). But nothing could have prepared me for the shock of seeing _Admiral Kathryn Janeway_ walk into that room. I think the entire room must have felt similarly, for suddenly the air grew deathly still. Stiffly, almost regally, she walked to the lectern. She smiled warmly at us, and began to speak with that matronly tone of voice that we had all learned to love over the course of seven years.

"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I'm told that no introduction is necessary, as most of you know me better than I know myself. So we will simply begin with the introduction to what has been unofficially labeled as the 'Two Weeks of Hell' you're all about to go through. Let's start with the roster." She glanced down at the padd in her hand. "Captain Michael Thorne Allen" It took me a moment to realize that she was calling _my_ name, but I raised my hand. She moved on, but I barely heard. The thought of being a captain had returned. I looked at the admiral's face. Beautiful, yet grim from long years of hard decisions, many of which had led to the death of people under her command. Maybe that was why she had accepted admiralty so soon after returning the _Voyager_...

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Francis William Newman" The lanky fellow raised his hand.

"That's me, ma'am. But mah friends call me 'Tex'". Admiral Janeway smiled.

"Very well, Tex. Ensign Maria Grijalva Perez" The list went on. I tried to focus; after all, I would need to get to know these people. But all my attention was torn between seeing what I assumed was the _actual_ Kathryn Janeway for the first time, and the implications of being responsible for scores, if not hundreds of lives. But my brain, ever the dreaming optimist, soon began replacing scenes of horror with scenes of valor on my part. Before long, I was daydreaming about what it might be like to sit in that chair. To give orders and have them followed to the letter. To hear myself say...

"Mr. Allen, would you mind joining us" Admiral Janeway sounded stern, but her gaze gave her away. I got the feeling that she knew exactly what I was thinking. She then turned to address the class. "I assume you're all wondering how you got your ranking. It's quite simple, really. A few weeks before you were brought here, you each received a 'Star Trek' survey, which you were to complete and send in to our front corporation. Although you didn't know it at the time, you were actually rating your ability to function in Starfleet as an officer." There were several groans, presumably on the part of those in the room who now wished they had worked a little harder on that survey. I thought back to how easily I had completed the survey. Was it possible that of the people in this room, I was most fit for leadership? The admiral continued. "Over the course of this week, your performance will determine several things. The class of ship you are assigned to, the sector you are assigned to, your duties there...all this and more will depend on how well you adapt to your surroundings and how well you work together. Any questions before we begin" Slowly I raised my hand.

"Yes, Mr. Allen"

"Ma'am, what are the chances of any of us in this room surviving this conflict with the Borg" Kathryn Janeway looked me squarely in the eye.

"Very little, Mr. Allen. Very little."

* * *

At the front of the darkened classroom rotated a holographic projection of a human male, clad only in shorts. As it rotated, it began to change; slowly at first, then picking up pace as we watched. First, his skin turned pale, and black rivulets of nanites began to appear beneath the skin. Over the left eyebrow, a metal piece appeared, folding out several sharp edges to cover more space and dig into the skin. A type of carapace began to form over the chest, widening and lengthening to gradually cover the abdomen. Suddenly, his left eyeball was gone, exposing the tissue behind. I heard several noises of disgust, but most of us simply stared and listened as Janeway's voice droned on.

"Note that the nerve is carefully preserved during the removal of the eyeball. The ocular implant depends on this. It's a delicate process, and sometimes cannot be done. If a subject has any sort of deterioration..." As she talked, more and more of the human became Borg. His right arm disappeared below the elbow, leaving a bloodless stump that was soon replaced with a large mechanical arm. Vicious-looking pincers were attached to that arm; they twitched in seeming anticipation for some terrible deed.

I found some of the information to be helpful; that is, some of it I didn't already know. But for the most part, I felt like I was really wasting my time in here. Finally, all traces of humanity had been removed from the projection, and he was fully Borg. Janeway raised the lights and touched her padd. Suddenly the drone in front of us changed from male to female. It took a moment, but we realized that the face was that of Admiral Janeway. Before any of us could say anything, the real Janeway took a hand phaser from her side and blasted the holograph into oblivion. A wisp of acrid smoke caught in the light as she reset her phaser and returned it to her side.

"_That_, students, is the most important thing to remember about the Borg at this point." We all stared at her, speechless. "I know. It seems cruel."

"'Specially since y'all can bring 'em back" objected Tex.

"Mr. Newman...Tex...I don't think you understand the magnitude of what we are about to face. We are looking at millions, perhaps billions, of drones on our hands in a matter of months. Every single one of you has to be prepared to put a phaser to your friend's head and fire. The medical staff of every single ship and every station and every planet in the Federation will be hard pressed just to deal with the wounded. So it is not Starfleet's intention that we should make much of an effort to "bring back" drones. It's a very complicated and dangerous procedure, with limited effectiveness."

"What would Seven of Nine have to say about that" asked another student, one Carrie Johnstone I later found out. Admiral Janeway nodded with understanding.

"I understand your point. But Seven of Nine was a special case. Understand that we are not happy about this decision. Starfleet's mission is one of peace. But we absolutely cannot tend to our own people _and_ Borg at the same time. And trust me, killing your friend would be much better for them than allowing them to remain Borg."

"Well, ah wouldn' do somethin' like that" said Tex, folding his arms.

"You don't have a choice. It's an order. If you don't like it, go home." Janeway glared at him, and Tex backed off.

"Yes, ma'am. Sorry ma'am" he drawled slowly, sinking deeper into his chair. Janeway sighed.

"Apology accepted, lieutenant. Hopefully you won't face that decision. But if you do" she looked at me"you have to be ready to make a very tough decision." _Responsibility, Allen. That choice could be yours._

We spent the next several hours examining Borg cadavers, a process which very much bothered me at first. Eventually, I had to detach myself and begin to look at them as a mere science project. It was difficult, but I was successful enough at it that by the time lunch rolled around, I felt quite capable of eating something.

Our group was released, and we eventually found ourselves sitting inside a giant lounge. Through the large windows, one could see most of Starfleet Academy, Starfleet Headquarters and, farther off, the Golden Gate Bridge. Shuttles of every shape and size whizzed around from place to place. One thing that continually amazed me was just how much all of this looked _exactly_ as I had seen it in the show. That, of course, was backward reasoning. Actually, the show had looked exactly like the reality around me. I was going to have to get used to that...

My crew (what a thought!) and I sat together at three tables in a corner of the room. I looked around and noticed that most of the other "crews" were doing the same. _Getting to know one another better. Good idea._ I managed to get situated between Julie Brock and someone whose name I could not remember. It was awkward having to ask after having already heard it on the roster, but fortunately Ensign Greg Walker seemed to be more than happy to repeat his name. I vowed silently at that point to always know the names of everyone in my group.

We sat, eating and talking. I learned the backgrounds of several people. Julie Brock, for example, had come from Minnesota, where she had been a waitress. Her love for Star Trek was primarily academic; she had seen every episode and read every book she could get her hands on. She even boasted having memorized the Starfleet Technical Manual. I was impressed, to say the least.

Tex had, of course, worked on a ranch in Texas. His father's ranch, to be precise. His only connections with fellow Star Trek fans had been a mailing list and the occasional convention, but he knew Starfleet history inside and out. He seemed to be especially interested in battle tactics for starships, something that I imagined I would have to tap into at some point.

Ensign Walker might have had the most interesting history of all of us. At the age of twenty-four, he was already a multi-million dollar heir. His father had made a fortune on Wall Street, and had left the entirety of it to Greg when he died. Walker now owned several business firms scattered across the United States, and one in Japan. Still, all the money in the world could not keep him from accepting Starfleet's proposal. I was silently grateful that he seemed so grateful about only achieving the rank of ensign. Of course, _I_ would have been happy with being an ensign. Perhaps more happy...

After lunch, we returned to the classroom to find that we were being tested. Everything one could possibly wonder about the Borg was addressed in that test; there were three hundred questions. We had an hour and a half to complete it, and by the time we were finished, we were all exhausted. Fortunately, we were given the rest of the afternoon off. There would be an additional class at 2100 hours (it took me a while to remember that was 9:00), but it would be a short one, dealing with command chain protocol.

Everyone broke off to go exploring, and I was left alone in the halls. I walked for some time, passing empty labs and classrooms. Finally, I rounded a corner, and bumped into _her_.

"Oh, excuse me, Julie" I said.

"Lieutenant...sir" she corrected.

"Uh, right" I replied, with a grin. I noted that she was alone. "I guess I'm going to have to get used to calling you that. Um, I was thinking about getting some air. We don't seem to be restricted from going outside. Care to join me" She looked at me for the longest moment, then smiled.

"Absolutely, Captain! I'm getting tired of the stuffiness anyway. Let's find an exit and get out of here."

We walked for several hours in the warm June air. We talked primarily of our past on our Earth. I told her about my job as a sales clerk in a men's clothing store. I told her of my Bohemian apartment, my love for iced brandy, and generally all those interesting little details that make a person a person. She told me about her family, who never came to visit her after she had moved away and gone to college. She mentioned with obvious chagrin her recent unsuccessful attempt at a romantic relationship, which I secretly filed away for later use.

"I know what you mean" I said. "I've had a pretty decent-sized string of bad luck in that department myself."

"Yeah" she said, hands clasped behind her back as we exited a shop. "You don't seem like the type to have that problem." I raised an eyebrow. "You just seem like the type that girls would like." I smiled.

"Oh, they generally like me. For a while." She grinned.

"What, until they find out you're really a eunuch" We laughed. "I think, Captain Allen, that you just haven't found the right one yet." I nodded my head. Suddenly, her attention was drawn away from me. "Ooh, let's go into this place" Silently I acquiesced, and we entered.

Twenty-fourth century San Francisco was amazingly different than the one I had visited as a kid. There were still some old buildings around from the twenty-first century, which we hunted out and gazed upon with pride. We even stumbled upon a museum of the twentieth century, which was inadequate and even inaccurate in some of its descriptions, but it felt homey anyway, especially in the company of an attractive young woman.

As evening fell, we both decided we were rather hungry. Without thinking I offered to buy her dinner, and she laughed. It took me a moment to remember that we had no money and that money was not an issue anyway.

"Well, may I at least _escort_ you to dinner, then" I asked with a gentlemanly air.

"You may, sir" she said, and we went off in search of a restaurant in twenty-fourth century San Francisco.


	3. Leaps and Bounds

Chapter Three 

_We are the Borg. You will be assimilated; we will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile; we are the Borg._

Terror. The voice of the Borg: not so much an audible sound as something in the back of the mind. They were coming. I had to run, or they would get me. Turn me into something abominable. But I couldn't move. I looked down at my feet. Nothing wrong with them…why couldn't I make them do anything? I tried to look back up, but my head was so heavy. _Run, Mike!_ My eyes strained at the top of my vision to see how much closer they were. Not far at all now; a few feet at most. The drone coming toward me was blurry, but seemed to be scowling, almost as though its own will was involved…_Run, Mike! Don't let them touch you!_ Slowly, oh so slowly, my body began to turn away from the approaching drones. With a tremendous effort, I was able to lift my left foot just a little off of the floor.

But it was too late. I felt a metal-clad hand grasp my shoulder, hard. In slow motion, I was violently spun around on the axis of my right foot. My left foot crashed against the rock-solid frame of the drone as it came around, throwing me off balance. As I began to fall to the floor, I felt two sharp pains in the nape of my neck. With a terror I had never felt before, I realized I was being assimilated. _This is it_, my brain realized. The pain was such that I could not even conjure a scream. I lifted my head a little with the last ounce of strength I had, and looked into the assimilated face of…

* * *

"Julie!" I screamed, sitting up in bed. I was covered in sweat, yet goose bumps covered my flesh as reality dawned blessedly upon me. This was the fourth time in a week, and I was again sorry not to still be sharing a room with Jerry. I looked at the chronometer on the wall. I had a good hour before I even had to be up, but I wasn't about to go back to sleep. I threw off the covers and made my way to the head.

Hot water poured over my body. It was refreshing and comforting at the same time; I tried to remove the thought of what had just happened, and the warm water helped. Mentally I noted that I had better enjoy a real shower while one was at my disposal. Soon I would be subjected to sonic showers, which I had been told were adequate but just not the same. Thinking about that future brought back the horrific imagery of my dream, and I winced. _They're coming, Mike. You'd better be ready…_

For fourteen days straight, we had studied. Starfleet's goal was to take the knowledge we already had, and hone it to something at least resembling perfection. And interestingly enough, it seemed to be working. Everyone on my crew was working like crazy to be the best Starfleet officers they could be when the time came around. I was genuinely proud of them, and was looking forward to working with them in a real command situation.

Although I would never admit it to anyone else, I was especially looking forward to serving with Julie…_Lieutenant _Brock. I had noted with disappointment that Starfleet protocol discouraged relationships between a captain and a subordinate. Though such a thing was certainly not unheard of, I feared that she would shy away from any advances I might make. Then again, though, that could be for the better…

There was no ceremony at the end of our two weeks. Our last day of classes, we were turned out early to pack. As I was leaving the classroom, Admiral Janeway placed a hand on my shoulder.

"Mike, I'd appreciate it if you would stay for a few minutes." I nodded and walked back over to my desk. Over the last two weeks, I had come to see Janeway as a real person, rather than just a fictional character. I had even had the pleasure of dining with her one evening. I found myself respecting her immensely, and I attempted to soak up her wisdom as often as I could in hopes of being the best captain possible.

"Thanks for staying," she said as the last person filed out the door.

"No problem, ma'am," I replied. She smiled warmly.

"It's Kathryn. I wanted to congratulate you, Mike, both for making captain and for surviving these past two weeks."

"Thanks, ma'am…uh, Kathryn," I said. She sat down in the desk next to me and leaned on an elbow.

"Having said that, I also wanted to warn you. You're attached to your crew already; I can see it. Don't get me wrong, now, because it's important to establish a rapport with them. It's essential, in fact. But you're going to be serving with your best friend. And don't think I haven't noticed how you look at Lieutenant Brock." My eyes widened, and she laughed.

"I didn't know it was that obvious," I said.

"Well, it is. And I'm aware that it's perfectly natural. She's a lovely girl, Mike. But I'm telling you, the odds of either of you surviving this ordeal are not great. I know I've probably said this a thousand times these past two weeks, but you must be willing to kill her or any of your crew to save them from assimilation or, worse, from being used as a tool of the enemy. Are you ready for that?" I was silent for a moment. I felt weak at the thought. My mind returned to the recurring nightmare, and the horror that surrounded it. I looked into the deep pools of Admiral Janeway's eyes.

"I don't know, Kathryn," I said, shaking my head.

"I would suggest that you find out very soon, Mike." She squeezed my shoulder. "I'm here for you."

"Thank you," I said genuinely. There was a sadness behind her smile, one which I seriously hoped I would never share.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, Admiral?" Admiral Heaton's office was spacious, and was richly decorated in what looked to be a mixture of Greco-Roman and traditional Klingon styles. Admiral Heaton himself seemed as though he might be made of warrior mettle; he was quite tall and muscular, and had a sort of noble presence about him. He gestured for me to sit down across from him at his desk.

"Mr. Allen, congratulations first of all." He reached into his desk. "Cigar?" he asked, holding one out to me. I hesitated. "Don't worry, Captain. We cured cancer a long time ago." I smiled and took it.

"Mike, I called you in here to let you know that you've been accorded a special honor. As a future captain, you're aware that you'll be spending the next seven days under the wing of an experienced captain. What you haven't been aware of, however, is that you will be serving under Jean-Luc Picard."

"The _Enterprise_, sir?" I practically shouted. Admiral Heaton nodded.

"That's correct. You're going to be the envy of all your peers."

"Sir, this is incredible!" I said in understatement.

"Yes, I would imagine so. And what should be even more exciting is the reason you're being assigned to her. Your commission as captain will be a _Sovereign_-class vessel." My jaw dropped, literally. I tried to speak, but nothing would come out. The admiral pretended to take no notice.

"The _U.S.S. Ascension_ is her name, registration NCC 82661. You'll find that she closely matches the _Enterprise_ in most ways, since they've both just been refitted recently. I would suggest that you get to know your way around her over this next week."

"Aye, sir," I said, puffing happily and thoughtfully on my cigar. This was too much…

"I should warn you about something before you go," he said. "Captain Picard has only recently been made aware of this project, and…" he trailed off.

"And?" I asked. The admiral adopted an irritated look.

"Well, he's not exactly happy about it."

* * *

We sat in the lounge at an elegant, stately table. We had all been given dress uniforms to wear, and had donned them with pride. Around the room several hundred other people from my universe sat, chatting idly as we waited for the dinner to commence. We had been told that there were ten such rooms in use tonight; Starfleet was holding a very large banquet for us.

The doors of the lounge suddenly swooshed open, and Admiral Jellico walked in. Everyone began standing, and I quickly did so myself. The admiral extended a hand toward the room in general.

"As you were. Please, sit down." Slowly, everyone sat back down. He stood at the front of the room and looked at all of us, smiling.

"Congratulations, Starfleet Officers! You have done well over the past two weeks, and now the time has come to begin your missions. The captains among you will be leaving in the morning to serve aboard some of our presently engaged starships. The rest of you will be boarding the ship you will be stationed on, and will spend the next week getting familiar with everything. You will be mingling with other Starfleet officers, as to create the best possible mix of knowledge and experience. And you will be gearing up for war. The Borg are advancing in greater and greater numbers. Already we have detected nearly thirty cubes advancing on the Federation. It is our sincere hope that with you all, as well as a few other tricks Starfleet has up its sleeve, we will be able to defeat the Borg. And this time, our plan is not to simply drive them back to the Delta Quadrant." His look became menacing. "This time, we intend to destroy the Borg, once and for all."

The room erupted into applause. There were even a few cheers to be heard, despite the austere atmosphere. This seemed to be the desired response, as Admiral Jellico simply smiled.

"Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy your dinner, and the rest of your evening. You've all got a very busy day tomorrow." He turned and left amid the laughter rippling across the tables. As the food was brought out, I looked at the people around me who were to be my crewmates. They were chatting happily with each other. Jerry and Tex were having a discussion about the changing shape of the warp field. Walker and Perez seemed to be flirting, giggling idly about some joke he had told. Carrie Johnstone seemed intent on her napkin, which she was neatly folding into some origami animal shape. Julie, who sat next to me (could that have been what made it so obvious?), seemed lost in thought.

"Think it'll work?" I asked. She seemed to snap out of a daze, and looked at me.

"What?"

"Oh, whatever you're plotting. You seemed pretty lost in thought." She grinned sheepishly.

"I was just thinking about everyone back home. I don't guess they'll ever know what happened to me…" she trailed off.

"I would imagine that we'll be returned to the exact time that we left. Unless the war goes on for several years, we won't look that much different. It ought to be pretty simple." Tears welled up in her eyes, and she swallowed hard to get rid of them.I said nothing, but turned to the food in front of me.

* * *

We walked along the San Francisco Bay, as had become our custom over the last two weeks. As much as I hated the thought of bringing it up again, I wanted to atone for my earlier actions.

"I'm sorry about tonight, Julie," I said. "I guess it's just that I like to think positively about this."

"Come on, Mike," she sighed. "You know what the odds of us surviving out there are?" I was silent. "Let's be realistic. Starfleet needed bodies to stand between the Borg and the Federation. That's us. We're there to be cannon fodder. The truth is that there is almost no hope, and a ragtag group of Trekkies from a technologically inferior universe isn't going to raise the Federation's odds very much at all."

I stared down at the sand as we walked on. "I understand how you feel," I said.

"Do you?" I looked into her eyes. They were full of tears again. _Should I tell her? _I stopped, turned, and placed my hands on her shoulders.

"Yeah, I do. Julie, over the last week and a half, I've had the same recurring dream. I'm on a ship, the ship we're serving on, and the Borg are coming down the corridor. I know I have to run away from them, but I can't move. It's like I'm suddenly too heavy to do anything. And just as I turn to try to run away, a hand grabs me. It spins me around, and the Borg drone shoots its tendrils into my neck. I can _feel_ myself being assimilated from the inside out. But the most horrifying thing is that when I look the drone in the face, it's you." As the implications of this statement dawned on her, she burst into tears, burying her face in my chest. I too felt tears welling up; I stroked her hair and just held her for a bit.

Eventually, she pulled away, still sniffling a little. "I'm sorry, Mike," she said. "I know you must be going through hell with this too." She stared up at the moon; the lights of New Berlin were clearly visible in the night sky. "We don't belong here, Mike." She turned to me. "Why are we here?"

"Because it doesn't matter whether it's this universe or ours, Julie. The Borg are going to come." I smiled a little. "It's like Tex said: at least here we stand a fighting chance." Julie laughed through her tears.

"As I recall, that wasn't _exactly_ how Tex put it." Boldly, I reached a finger up and brushed at a tear. She didn't pull away. I leaned in a little closer, and was surprised at how much taller I was than her. Fortunately, she seemed to read my mind, and raised herself up a little on her toes. Our lips met, briefly at first, then lingered in a deep kiss. When we broke away, she hugged me close to her.

"Thanks, Mike," she said. She let go, and we started to walk again, this time hand in hand. "You know, maybe I _should _start thinking more positively."

"That's the spirit."

We kissed goodbye that night, and I headed to my quarters smiling. It would be a very long week, even getting to serve under Captain Picard, but I was ready for it.

* * *

My first shuttle ride was a bit of a letdown. I had expected it to be far more exciting than any plane ride had ever been. But in fact, I barely felt the craft move as we took off from Starfleet Headquarters. It had occurred to me that I was about to go into space for the first time in my life, and I was very excited. The officers around me didn't seem to understand my fidgeting, but they were polite or uninterested enough not to ask.

We left the atmosphere, and I was exposed to the naked beauty of space. One cannot truly appreciate how large space is until one has actually seen it. And Earth! My home planet shone like a polished blue marble. I felt my heart leap into my throat with sudden pride. But the shuttle turned away from Earth, and it was lost to my sight.

And suddenly there it was. I caught my breath as we approached the massive hulk that was the _Enterprise_. It hung there in space, its dark gleaming hull looming over our heads as we drew closer on the fore.

"You OK?" one of the officers asked me.

"I'm better than OK," I mumbled in shock. Then suddenly, unable to control myself, I laughed. "I'm _much_ better than OK."

We flew for what seemed like long minutes across the great starship's hull, then circled around to enter the docking bay doors in the aft section. Slowly, we came to a stop, and disembarked. As I stepped onto the floor, I immediately noticed something didn't feel right.

"Artificial Gravity plating," said one of the officers. "You can't really notice it in the shuttle, but you can always tell on a starship. Don't worry, you'll get used to it." I hoped so. At the far end of the docking bay, a greeting party was approaching. At the head was Captain Jean-Luc Picard. I fought my impulse to run up to him and shake his hand. As he drew closer, I was glad I hadn't.

"Welcome aboard the _Enterprise_, Mr. Allen," he said with false warmth. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your quarters." I grabbed my bag and followed. The admiral hadn't been joking, I decided. This _was_ going to be a long week.


	4. To the Neutral Zone

Chapter Four 

My tour of the _Enterprise_ was brief, to say the least. Basically it consisted of Captain Picard identifying rooms we passed on the way to his ready room. He dismissed the ensign who had trailed along behind us from the docking bay. As she left, we stepped into the turbolift.

"Bridge," Picard growled to the computer, and I felt a slight lift as we began ascending.

"Captain, I…" I began.

"You may call me Jean-Luc!" he snapped. "Or you may call me by whatever other pet name you might have for me, or whatever name my mother might have called me when I was four for that matter!" His eyes blazed, and I backed up a step in the small space. I started to speak, but thought better of it as I felt the turbolift slow to a stop. The doors opened, and I was greeted with the sight of Geordi LaForge. His eerie blue mechanical eyes drifted from my face to the pips on my uniform.

"Good morning, Captains," he said with a smile. I got the feeling that he was well aware of Captain Picard's current frame of mind.

"Good morning, Mr. LaForge," the captain said stiffly as the doors closed and we resumed our ride. "How did your tests go?"

"Excellent, Captain. We'll be ready to implement nacelle modifications by tomorrow morning at the latest." This seemed to cheer Picard a little. Suddenly the doors opened.

"Good work, Mr. LaForge. At some point, you'll have to brief Captain Allen here on your work."

"My pleasure, sir."

In front of me sat the bridge of the starship _Enterprise_. With a sense of the surreal that had become all too common over the last couple of weeks, I stepped into the circular room of my dreams. The hum of machinery and voices mixing was a glorious sound to my ears; a hub of activity surrounded me. At the far end of the bridge, the viewscreen was on, displaying countless stars. Suddenly someone in the organized cacophony saw us, and stood up.

"Captains on the bridge," he said. Everyone stood, silent and staring at us. I had but a moment to absorb it all, but that was sufficient. I _outranked_ everyone in that room, with the exception of Jean-Luc Picard.

"As you were," he said. "Lieutenant, set a course for the Romulan Neutral Zone, maximum warp." Kell Perim nodded, her fingers already reaching for the conn.

"Aye, sir," she said.

Picard looked at me with barely concealed disdain. "Would you care to join me in my ready room, Captain Allen?" I nodded and followed him. I took one last glance at the bridge as we exited, and saw Geordi LaForge staring back and shaking his head sadly. I got the feeling that I really _didn't_ care to join the captain.

He sat down at his computer, and immediately began messing with a padd. I walked up to his desk, waiting. Finally, he waved a hand absently, indicating that I should sit.

"Captain, I don't know what I've done to offend you, but…" Picard's eyes flashed with anger as he looked up from his padd.

"Well allow me to explain, Mr. Allen! How would you like it if you discovered one day that both the public and private details of your life were common knowledge to millions of people? Would you enjoy it if people thronged to ask you personal questions about former lovers, or thought that the most painful moment in your entire life was humorous? How would you like it, Mr. Allen, if a position that you spent years of your life working for, were suddenly doled out like candy to people from a technologically inferior and highly immature group of people? Understand, Mr. Allen, I _earned_ this!" He pointed to the captain's pips on his collar.

"Furthermore," he continued, standing and tugging at his uniform, "Starfleet is handing starships over to inexperienced crews! Starships, Mr. Allen! Do you have any idea what a starship is capable of in the right hands? More importantly, do you know what a starship is capable of in the _wrong_ hands? And all of that is to say _nothing_ of the Prime Directive!" He fell silent, pacing in front of the window. I turned in my chair to face him.

"Captain, I understand your concern, but…" I had nothing. He was right, I knew. Even though Starfleet had chosen the best of us, we were still what we were: _not_ _Starfleet officers._ "For what it's worth, Jean Luc, I don't think the Prime Directive exactly applies to us anymore. Starfleet's actions may have been unethical, but what's done is done. Besides, the more of us on the front lines, the better Starfleet's chances of winning against the Borg, right?" Picard looked at me with what seemed to be a mix of irritation and pity.

"My opinion would seem to hold very little weight in the matter, Mr. Allen."

"It's Mike, and what do you mean?" Picard sighed.

"When Starfleet informed me of the 'Wagon Train to the Stars' Project several months ago, I immediately protested, to no avail. I have since filed several objections, all of which have been either ignored or met with open hostility." He saw my face fall a little. "Understand, Mr. Allen…Mike, I do this not _against_ you, but _for_ you. Starfleet has no right bringing you into this conflict." He turned his gaze to the window, watching the stars stream by outside the ship's warp field. "Starfleet is panicked, Mike. They know we're not going to win this war, and in the Federation's final moments they are grasping at every straw within their reach."

"That seems like a pretty hopeless outlook, for someone who's beaten the odds as many times as you have," I said, a little indignantly. Picard looked at me, and a flicker of a smile appeared.

"Perhaps age is finally catching up with me."

"Or perhaps it's the fact that the Borg are too many," I said in his favor. "I understand the situation, Captain. In fact, I understand that the Borg in my universe have plans for Earth as well." I stood and joined him at the window. "There isn't much purpose in staying on an Earth that's going to be assimilated eventually. At least here I have a chance to fight back, and more formidable weaponry to do it with. And if there's even the slightest chance that we can win here, then I have to hope that there's that chance for my Earth as well." Picard looked at me, and this time he really did smile.

"Hope, Mike. You're right. After all, hope is really all we have left." He walked over to the replicator. "Care for some tea?" I nodded.

"Earl Grey. Hot," I said. Picard laughed.

"Earl Grey it is. Coming right up." He spoke to the replicator, and two steaming cups appeared. He gave one to me, and we sat back down at his desk. Picard put his hand forward.

"I'm afraid we didn't get off to a very good start. Jean-Luc Picard."

"Mike Allen," I said, shaking his hand warmly. "Now, if I may ask, why are we going to the Neutral Zone?" Picard took a sip of his tea.

"We are scheduled to meet with Praetor Donatra in two days to discuss the Romulan position on the upcoming war. Since her acceptance as Praetor several months ago, Donatra has been keeping in almost constant communication with the Federation. Apparently, she is pushing for open trade between Federation and Romulan space. Obviously, we have much more serious matters to discuss with her. We are to perform a confidential information exchange and establish checkpoints for Federation reinforcements, since the Romulans will likely be hit before we are. Lastly, we are to escort the Praetor's ship back to Earth for a conference. It will be tricky, since Romulan ships really haven't crossed very far into the Neutral Zone much since the Tomed Incident. In 2311, they…"

"I'm aware of the Tomed Incident, Jean Luc," I said. I knew all about it, in fact. The Romulans had attacked the Federation without provocation, costing several thousand lives. Out of it had come the Treaty of Algeron, which had reestablished the potency of the Neutral Zone and banned the Federation from developing ship-cloaking technology.

"I see," Picard said simply. "Well, it will be touchy, to say the least."

"Yes, I suppose it will. What is my part in all of this?" I asked, fearing the answer. Picard smiled.

"You're to do the same thing you've apparently been doing for years."

"And that is?" Picard finished off his tea, stood and straightened his tunic.

"Watch what I do."

* * *

Night on the _Enterprise E_ was amazing. At least to me it was. I wandered around the ship, seeing only the occasional person passing on duty. The long halls I had primarily to myself. Captain Picard had been gracious enough to give me some time to get used to the ship, and I had been taking advantage of that opportunity ever since.

There was no chance of me getting lost. I knew the schematics of the _Enterprise_ practically by heart. But actually _being_ there was amazing. I visited the transporter room, engineering, sickbay…all the places the camera had frequented during the show and the movies. I found them all to be very fascinating, though a bit gloomy in the dimmed lights. I recognized none of the people I came across. Finally, I found myself walking into the Ten Forward Lounge. It was dark in there too, but then it was _always _dark in Ten Forward. The configuration of tables was a little different than the bar on the _Enterprise D_, but essentially everything looked the same. There were still the fantastic giant windows, looking out over the starfield as the ship moved at incredible velocity. Two or three people sat at the tables, and none of them seemed to notice my arrival. I had hoped that Guinan was still aboard the ship, and was delighted to find her tending the bar as usual, purple robe, odd hat and all. She recognized me as I walked up to the bar.

"What'll it be, Captain Allen?" she asked with a smile.

"Brandy. With ice, if you don't mind," I said, silently marveling that I was ordering a drink from a legend.

"I never mind," she said, and reached for a bottle. "Have you had synthehol yet?"

"Uh, no. Actually, I haven't had the pleasure." Guinan smirked, something I could not remember ever seeing her do.

"Pleasure is a funny word for it, Captain. But here you go." She offered me a glass. I took a look at it, smelled it and sipped at it lightly.

"Not as bad as I figured it would be," I said. "Still, it certainly doesn't capture the spirit, if you'll pardon my pun." Her smile widened.

"No problem, Captain. So tell me, how are you adjusting to life in the twenty-fourth century?" I thought for a moment as I sat down on one of the stools.

"That's an excellent question. I'm not really sure yet. I guess you know the story behind all of this." Guinan nodded. "Well, finding out that it was real all along has been quite a trip. There's so much stuff that goes on behind the scenes…so much that they couldn't fit into the show. The kind of stuff that makes your reality _real_."

"And you didn't expect that to be here, did you? You expected only the fantasy that you knew, and what you found was a universe where real people made real mistakes and had real problems."

"Well, yes. That's it in a nutshell I guess. It almost seems _too_ real, if that makes any sense."

"It makes plenty of sense. You see it all the time in relationships between people. The shiny exterior wears off, and the _reality_ begins to be exposed." Guinan leaned forward on the bar. "I'm sure you can appreciate that situation. And you're going to start seeing it even more in the coming days." She was right; I had been very proud of my crew so far. Their performance had been exemplary, and their ability to get along had amazed me. But how would all of that stand up under the duress that was looming ahead?

"What can I do to keep things together, Guinan?" As soon as I said it, I wondered why I had. Why was I asking her for advice? It suddenly dawned on me that I was, without even thinking, essentially _re-enacting _what I had seen others do in her presence. Still, the El Aurians _were _supposed to be a race of listeners…

"Why don't you try being yourself, Captain?" She smiled. "Now if you don't mind, I'm closing up for the evening." She motioned to the others that it was closing time, and they got up. I stood.

"Thanks for listening, Guinan. And for the advice."

"That's what I'm here for," she said.

* * *

The two days passed quickly. In addition to what remained of the original crew of the _Enterprise E_, I met several new people. I learned things I never knew about starship functions. I realized just how boring the bridge could get when one sat there for hours on end. Despite the intense joy I got from just being aboard the _Enterprise_, I was very glad for the change of pace when we arrived at the Neutral Zone.

Picard sat in his command chair. To his right sat Commander Madden, the new first officer. I occupied the chair to his left. Ahead, the starfield suddenly shimmered, and a Romulan Warbird appeared.

"We're being hailed, Captain," Lieutenant Perim stated.

"On screen." Before us, a Romulan commander appeared.

"I am Commander Trel of the _Peklar_. The Praetor is anxious to commence negotiations."

"Of course," Picard replied. "We would be delighted if she would be our guest aboard the _Enterprise_ for the evening." Trel nodded.

"That will be acceptable. We will beam over shortly. Trel out." His image disappeared, replaced by that of his ship. Picard stood.

"Come, Mr. Allen. Let's make our guests feel welcome. Number One," he said to Madden, although I detected that he did not feel quite right saying it yet, "you have the bridge."

As we walked into the transporter room, the ensign on duty looked up at us.

"Sir," he said to Picard, "there are four of them beaming over. The Praetor says that she has a 'surprise' for you." Picard looked at me with raised eyebrows and a half smile.

"When a Romulan tells you that she's got a 'surprise', you'd better keep on your toes," he said. "Energize, Mr. Henderson." The familiar sound of the transporter effect hummed all around us, as four forms materialized. I immediately recognized the Praetor. She stepped regally off of the transporter pad, her gaze fixed on Picard. Everything looked pretty normal to me. So what was the surprise, I wondered. I looked at her companions, and realized with a start _exactly_ what the surprise was.

Before me stood the aged figure of Ambassador Spock.


	5. Of Praetors and Queens

Chapter Five 

He stood on the transporter pad, the almost comical image of logic and illogic combined in his very crisp, very Romulan tunic. His eyes caught mine, and one eyebrow crept subtly above the other. For a very slight moment, there was silence.

"Captain Picard, it is good to see you again," the Praetor stated flatly. She looked at me. "You I do not know…"

"He is Captain Michael Allen, of the starship _Ascension_," Spock said. I nodded, wide-eyed. _He knows my name_. Picard smiled.

"Praetor Donatra, welcome aboard the _Enterprise_, and to Federation space. Ambassador, it is good, as always, to see you again." Spock gave a nod, then stepped down slowly from the transporter. He approached me with a quizzical look, addressing the Praetor over his shoulder.

"Captain Allen is part of a Federation recruitment project which has been brought online to combat the current crisis with the Borg." Picard nodded.

"The details are somewhat…classified, I'm afraid," he said. The Praetor seemed not to care.

"Very well, Captain Picard. Let us do what we came here to do."

"Of course, Madame Praetor." He tapped his communicator. "Number One?"

"Madden here, sir."

"Set a course for Earth at warp factor eight, and engage. Signal the _Peklar_ to follow."

"Aye, sir."

"And now," Picard said, straightening his tunic and smiling diplomatically, "if you would be so kind as to follow me, we will get down to business."

Four of us sat in the Observation Lounge. The other two Romulans, the Praetorian Guard, as well as two Federation security officers, stood outside the door. Ambassador Spock sat across the table from me, next to the Praetor, with his hands folded in thought.

"Captain Picard," Donatra began, "I assume that we are quite free to talk in here."

"Oh yes, Madame Praetor. This room has been secured for our use. Where shall we begin?" Donatra reached into her cloak and produced a small metal object with a smooth, rounded surface. She set it down, and immediately a holographic projection of a group of stars appeared above the surface of the table. A greenish glow came from a large section of the stars. I recognized it from the charts as a representation of Romulan space. Slowly, red dots began to appear near the furthest edge.

"We are detecting Borg ships in greater numbers each day. They have been clustering together at several gathering points along our perimeter."

"Yes, our long range scanners were able to pick up some of the nearer groups," Picard said. "Thus far, we've been able to detect about fifty ships." The Praetor sighed, which I thought seemed very uncharacteristic for a Romulan.

"I fear that the situation is much worse than that, Captain. Our sensors have picked up, to date, over three hundred Borg vessels, and there are indications of more on the way. As you can imagine, Captain, this fact is most distressing to the Romulan Senate. Word has nearly leaked to the public several times already."

"You mean you haven't warned your people yet?" I asked, shocked. Picard looked at me sharply as the Praetor responded.

"No. Only our top military officials and Ambassador Spock have been informed of the situation. That is our way." There was silence for a moment. Spock, seeming to sense the inadequacy of the Praetor's answer, continued for her.

"If the Romulan public were made aware of the situation at hand, chaos would break out. Tactically, it would be unwise to introduce such instability to an already dangerous situation. Given the militaristic status of the Romulan Empire, those who _can_ fight are already in a position that ensures they _will _fight. The rest of the Empire, for the most part, is composed of individuals who cannot contribute beyond the relief efforts."

"When were you planning on telling your men what they're up against?" I asked the Praetor. I could feel my own tension rising, and I struggled to keep it from showing in my voice. The Praetor smiled sarcastically.

"I think, Captain Allen, that you have just solved your own concern. I do not have _men_ to tell. I have Romulans. And Romulans will not groan and complain when they are told what they face. If I choose to tell them the day before the attack, they will still follow my orders to the very last. Please spare me your feelings of pity for my _men_. I assure you they are quite unnecessary." I sat back in my seat, aware that I had just been soundly beaten in the argument. She was right; I simply could not think of her people as humans. Still…

"Shall we move on, Captain Picard? Unless Captain Allen has any further objections…" I looked at Spock and saw what just might have been a trace of pity behind his otherwise cold eyes. Then I looked down at the table.

"I have no further questions," I mumbled. Picard cleared his throat.

"Well, Madame Praetor, now we come to the Federation's part of this bargain. We have in our possession a certain type of ablative hull armor that has proven itself remarkably against Borg weaponry." He tapped at a padd in his hand, then slid it across the table to the Praetor. She looked at it for several long seconds, her slanted eyebrows arching a bit. At last she looked back up, handing the padd to Spock.

"Fascinating," he murmured. "I was not aware of this technology." Picard smiled.

"That's because it's been highly classified. Let's just say that this technology is thanks to a bit of tampering done with the timeline, and Starfleet tries to keep things like that extremely low-key. At any rate, the information is yours now for the implementing. Additionally, Starfleet has developed a type of body shield. It's designed to keep a person from being assimilated for a short period of time. The frequency for each shield is different, so the Borg would have to break a new code for every person. It wouldn't keep someone from being assimilated indefinitely, but it might buy him a few minutes in an emergency.

"The only problem is that we've never been able to test it. Starfleet is relatively confident that these shields will work, but nobody knows for sure. Again, though, the information on them is yours, and you will find that it is also in that padd." The Praetor seemed satisfied. She proffered the small projector to him.

"In this star chart the are the present and future positions of my entire fleet. Our conference on Earth may impact this, so it has been programmed to receive regular updates from myself or from any of my top commanders." She looked at Spock. "And now we must bring forth perhaps the most pressing issue in this exchange. Ambassador?" Spock cleared his throat and folded his hands on the table.

"We have received intelligence reports recently on a faction of Reman derelicts. They have been around for some time, and are in possession of several ships, a small army, and a network of intelligence operatives. They were heavily involved in the _coup_ staged by former Praetor Shinzon." At the mention of Shinzon, I saw Picard's face fall a little. _Data._

"They call themselves the Bek'Tal, and have been a problem in the Empire for several years. Now, intelligence reports indicate that they have joined forces with several high-ranking Cardassian military leaders. No one seems to know what purpose they have, but we feel it is safe to assume that there is a threat to the Federation as well as the Romulan Empire. The Bek'Tal, from all indications, are totally in favor of defeating the Federation, as is most of the Cardassian military hierarchy. Our concern is that this new formation may have dealings with the Borg, exchanging knowledge with them for their own freedom."

"It would not be a great surprise to us, Captain," the Praetor said. "Shinzon's dream of conquering the Federation was not his own. There are many in the Empire who would be glad to see the Federation fall. I am sure you can understand this, since there are probably just as many on the side of the Federation who would happily seeour destruction." She looked at me. "That, too, is a reason for keeping things from one's people. Our alliance with you must be kept secret until the time comes. We do not want a civil war on our hands."

"The situation will be presented to the Romulan people as a surprise attack from the Borg," Spock said. "Fortunately, the Romulan military will be as ready as possible."

"A lie?" I asked boldly.

"A convenience," he replied.

"No Romulan will be surprised that the military is in peak performance," the Praetor said haughtily. She rose. "Is there anything further that you require of us, Captain?" she addressed Picard. The rest of us stood.

"Not at all, Praetor. Would you care to see your quarters?"

"Indeed. I am rather tired." Picard nodded.

"I understand. Will you be joining us for dinner?" he asked. The Praetor arched an eyebrow, and a vision of Chancellor Gorkon flitted across my mind.

"I do not believe so, Captain. Thank you, nonetheless." I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"I, too, will take my evening meal in my quarters, if you do not mind," said Spock. I was very disappointed, but I tried not to let my face show it. Picard simply nodded.

"Of course," he said. We exited, the Praetor and company heading one way, Picard and I the other. He was silent as we walked down the corridor.

"That was an interesting meeting," I said, trying to start a conversation.

"Indeed. Mr. Allen, you're really going to have to learn some diplomacy if you're to attend meetings of such importance in the future. You could have easily offended her."

"And what if I had," I said, just a little too indignantly. "What's she going to do, refuse to help us?" Picard stopped and turned, anger in his eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Allen. That's exactly what she might do. Romulans are an incredibly proud people, and to offend them is to invite trouble, no matter what the circumstance." We came to a turbolift.

"I'm sorry, Captain," I said. "I _am_ new at this, and I suppose I should have kept my mouth shut."

"See that you do in the future," he said, disappearing into the turbolift. I sighed and shuffled off towards my quarters to sleep the evening off.

* * *

I awoke to a flash of light so bright, it seemed to emanate from all around me. I jumped out of bed, slamming my skull into the bulkhead. My cursing was interrupted by another flash, this time not as bright, outside my window. Swiftly I padded over to it and looked out. I felt a sudden, slight nausea as the stars spun violently downward. I realized instantly that it was not the stars that were moving, but the _Enterprise_. A red light on my wall began flashing, and the loud red alert klaxon began to sound.

"Red Alert! All hands to battle stations!" I heard Picard's voice say over the intercom. "Captain Allen, report to the bridge immediately!"

I got dressed as quickly as I could. My brain raced. It was obvious that we were being attacked, but _who_ was attacking us? The _Peklar_? The Bek'Tal? I shuddered. The Borg? Suddenly my feet came out from underneath me as the ship was slammed by weapons fire. I picked myself up from the floor, sore but uninjured. I ran out the door and down the hall toward the turbolift. People were running up and down the halls, presumably headed for their battle stations. I stopped a young ensign and asked him what was going on.

"It's the Borg, sir. They're here." His face was full of fear. So was mine, I was sure. I stepped into the turbolift.

"Bridge," I said. "And step on it." After a brief moment, the doors reopened. On the bridge all was organized and orderly, though everyone seemed to be on edge. Ahead, on the viewscreen, was a Borg cube. It loomed, gargantuan and foreboding, over _Enterprise_, energy beams lancing to and from it every few seconds. Picard stood with Commander Madden in the center of the bridge. I noticed that Picard had taken a spill; blood trickled from a gash on his forehead.

"C-Captain Allen," he said, obviously dazed, "please man tactical." I forced myself to walk to the console, and took over for the ensign on duty, whose broken arm hung grotesquely at his side. His face clenched in pain, he addressed me.

"Permission to go to sickbay, Captain?" I looked askance at Picard, and he nodded weakly.

"Granted," I said, and turned my attention to the tactical display, trying to remember how it all worked. Fortunately, most of the LCARS interfaces were not nearly as complicated as people thought. After all, the ease of using them had been one of the reasons LCARS displays were implemented on starships.

"Helm," Picard said, "Lay in a course for the Toslo Nebula. Maximum warp." Kell Perim looked at Picard.

"Captain, we'll never make it to…"

"Make it so!" Picard shouted. He then sunk into his chair, having expendedhis last large burst of energy. "Engage," he said softly. I felt the _Enterprise_ shift into warp speed, and the stars ahead on the viewscreen assumed their familiar streaking motion. On my console, as well as on several others, a warning light blinked. I checked it out.

"Captain, the Borg are in pursuit," I said. No response. Picard's form went limp; he had passed out. Commander Madden shook him, to no avail. He looked at me.

"Captain Allen?" he said. I shook my head.

"No way, Commander. This one is yours. You're the first officer. Take over." Madden nodded, understanding.

"Helm, report," he said.

"The Borg have matched our speed and are accelerating," Perim said.

"Aft quantum torpedoes," Madden commanded.

"Torpedoes locked and…" the lieutenant at the weapons console never finished the sentence. The _Enterprise_ was rocked by a massive blast, and the bridge turned on its side. I felt myself being hurled across the room. I slammed into the wall, losing my breath. As I struggled to get air into my lungs, a sickeningly familiar sound came over the intercom.

"_We are the Borg. Lower your weapons. You will be assimilated. We will add your biological and technological distinctiveness to our own. Your culture will adapt to service us. Resistance is futile."_

I looked around for Commander Madden, and at first could not see him. When I did, I nearly lost my lunch. His face was smashed in by the console on which he had landed. His neck was broken; his head lay at an otherwise impossible angle to his shoulders. He was dead.

_Responsibility, Mike. Here is where it begins and possibly ends._

"Report," I wheezed, rising slowly. Perim climbed back into her chair and tapped her console.

"Shields at four percent, Captain," she said, the fear in her voice shining through.

"Are the aft torpedoes still locked?" I asked. She nodded.

"Fire," I said. She complied. "On screen."

The viewscreen shifted to the aft. The twin warp pylons of the _Enterprise_ pointed to the massive ship directly behind us. Five points of white light approached the cube, and then disappeared into the tangled metal mess of its hull. There was a blinding flash, and a section of the cube erupted outward. The viewscreen dimmed to keep us from being blinded.

"Direct hit, sir," Perim stated. "Significant damage done to the hull, but…" The Borg retaliated. I found myself staring up at the ceiling, where acrid smoke from burnt circuitry flowed freely across the bridge. I turned my head to see Picard, his eyes fluttering as he slowly regained consciousness. I sat up and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him a little. Over my shoulder, the injured voice of Lieutenant Perim came again.

"Shields are down, Captain." A moment. "Captain, we're being boarded!" Terror gripped me. What could I do? I looked at Picard, but he was barely awake, let alone cognizant of his surroundings. I stood up.

"Now hear this," I said. "This is Captain Allen, assuming command of the _Enterprise_. Abandon ship! Repeat, abandon ship!" At that moment, a beam of light appeared in the center of the bridge, and three Borg drones materialized in front of me.


	6. Out of the Frying Pan

Chapter Six 

I backed away from them immediately, bumping into a console and nearly falling. Picard was standing now, but barely. He made a faint attempt to bat at the approaching drones, but the closest one backhanded him, sending him sprawling over his chair. He landed headfirst on the deck with a sickening thud, and did not move. Perim drew a phaser from her side - why hadn't I grabbed mine- and fired at the closest drone. The beam hit it squarely in the chest, and the drone fell to the deck. The second drone suddenly disappeared in a flash of light as an ensign from the far end of the room vaporized it. Perim reached out to the third drone and fired into its face.

Too late. They had adapted. The beam briefly illuminated in green the drone's protective shield. A lightning-quick arm reached out and knocked the phaser from her hand. It clattered on the floor nearby, well out of reach. In the next instant, it had grabbed her arm, violently pulling her forward.

"Captain!" she screamed, looking into my eyes as two nanotubes shot from the drone's arm into her neck. Her eyes rolled back into her head, and she began to convulse as the nanites swam throughout her body. The drone dropped her unceremoniously and began walking my way.

"Get away from me!" I shouted as I ducked back behind the console I had run into. The drone easily stepped around it, effectively blocking any escape I might have been planning. Its hand reached for my throat, and…

"Computer, freeze program!" It was the voice of Picard, but much stronger than he had been before. The drone in front of me froze. The other people on the bridge froze. The lights on the consoles froze. And there stood Picard, next to his own lifeless form. He was _not _frozen. This was…

"You son of a bitch!" I yelled, extracting myself from my false Borg predicament and walking up to him. I looked at him for a moment. "This was all…?" I could say no more. I turned toward the viewscreen, feeling myself beginning to hyperventilate. I couldn't breathe, and I could feel tears welling up. Behind me, Picard's voice sounded almost sardonic.

"That seems to be a popular insult reserved for me by people from your time. And anyway, I would think that you of all people would be familiar with the _Kobayashi Maru_, Mr. Allen." I turned to face him, not caring that my tears were spilling.

_"You're supposed to KNOW you're taking the _Kobayashi Maru!" I shouted. I shivered; it was suddenly damn cold. Picard smiled, a little friendlier, perhaps.

"If it helps, I had no choice. Starfleet ordered that you be subjected to the test. As a matter of fact, it was supposed to happen at the end of your week. Unfortunately, we had to bump it up a little due to some real problems." I looked at him, my anger dissipating a little as the terror that I had just felt starting to ebb away returned with a vengeance.

"What kind of 'problems'?" Picard looked around at the body-strewn bridge. The toe of his boot touched the prone figure of the holographic drone on the floor.

"This kind," he said grimly. "Mr. Allen, I'm afraid that your tour of duty aboard the _Enterprise_ is nearly over. The invasion has begun." He snapped to attention and tugged at his uniform, then turned and walked out of the holodeck. The doors closed, and I sunk to the deck, pulling my knees up to my chin.

"Computer, end program," I choked through my sobs.

* * *

Ten Forward was open later on Friday nights. It should have amused me that even in the twenty-fourth century some of the basic things had never and would never change. I should have been smiling, enjoying the view of stars whizzing past.

Instead I sat, desperately wishing to get drunk on a substance that wouldn't do the job and was getting viler with every drink. I had wisely expended my tears on the holodeck before trying to return to my quarters. But when I _did_ return, I could not even begin to feel like sleeping. I was curious about the invasion, but I wasn't sure I wanted to talk to Picard at the moment. Besides, maybe I didn't _want_ to know…

Even with the later hours, there were only a couple of people in the lounge. It was very late, and most of the crew was either asleep or on duty, so it was no surprise. Still, even within the comfort of solitude, I wished for some company. I looked over to the bar to see if Guinan was still busy. She had been involved in some sort of deep conversation with an ensign earlier, but he was gone now. I got up from my seat and slowly walked to the bar. Guinan smiled as she saw me approach.

"Good evening, Captain," she said. "I heard you had quite the evening."

"How did you know that?" I asked. Her grin widened. She leaned in to whisper.

"News travels at warp speed on this ship, especially when we have visitors." She patted me on the shoulder. "How about something to make your evening a little bit better?" I shook my head, holding up my glass.

"Thanks, but one glass of this stuff is enough for one evening." She reached under the bar, pulling out a different bottle with what appeared to be the same disgusting brandy substitute. Fetching a glass and some ice, she poured me a drink.

"I keep a little private reserve for occasions like this. Don't tell Captain Picard." I smiled, taking the glass. The brandy was warm going down. And wonderful. I immediately felt my nerves calm a little.

"I won't," I said, smiling back at her. Guinan leaned forward on the bar.

"Good. Now why don't you tell me what it is about this evening's little event that brings you in here tonight, looking as though you've just seen a ghost?" I sighed, sitting down and taking a sip of my brandy. I really didn't want to seem as weak as I felt, but then again, I sensed nothing but support from Guinan.

"I was…terrified. It was as though I couldn't think fast enough. And people around me were dying or being assimilated…" I paused, loosening my grip on the glass. The pit of my stomach threatened to return the brandy.

"You wanted to save them…"

"Yes. Lieutenant Perim…well, the _hologram_ of her…she tried to save me. She sacrificed herself for me…"

"…And in your fantasies, it was always the other way around." She had just finished my thought.

"Yes! Yes, that's it. It was _nothing_ like I'd always imagined. I wanted so badly to save the people on the _Enterprise_. But I couldn't even move. And this thought kept going through my head…"

"And what thought was that?"

"Well, you see, there's this girl…" Guinan nodded.

"There usually is," she smiled.

"All I could think about was not seeing her again." I sniffled a little; afraid I might start crying again. At this point, I would not have minded Guinan seeing me in tears, but there were other people in the bar, and I still had _some_ dignity. Guinan refilled my glass.

"Tell me something, Captain. What would you have done if it had been this girl instead of Lieutenant Perim?" I felt the bile rise up in my throat at the question. I swallowed hard, staring at her wide-eyed for a long moment.

"I…I don't know, Guinan. A couple of hours ago, I would have told you that the Borg would have to go over my dead body. But now…" I trailed off, revisiting the sickening scene in my head.

"No one knows, Captain, until it happens. And every time you fall down, you get up that much stronger." She clapped a hand on my shoulder. "What do you think you would do now if you were put in the same situation?" I looked up at her, and relief flooded through me as I caught on to what she was saying.

"You're absolutely right," I said, smiling a little.

"I know. I don't think you're a coward, Captain Allen. And when the time comes, I think you're going to make one of the finest officers the Federation has ever seen."

* * *

I stepped off the turbolift onto the bridge, noting that Commander Madden was both alive and fully capable of duty.

"Where is Captain Picard?" I asked.

"In his ready room," Madden replied, returning his attention to the viewscreen. I punched the door chime.

"Come," came Picard's voice over the intercom. I walked in, finding Picard at his desk.

"Captain," I began, "I'd like to apologize for my conduct on the holodeck earlier." Picard smiled.

"Mr. Allen, I don't suppose you're familiar with my initial reaction to the _Kobayashi Maru_?" I shook my head. Picard laughed a little, gazing off into the past. "I was so impetuous. The minute the simulation ended, I marched outside, demanding vehemently that it be reset so that I could take it again. Fourteen people were in line to take the test, and I _demanded_ that they skip over them so that I could retake the test."

"What happened?"

"Well, they didn't do it of course. I had to place my name on the roster for a retake. As it turned out, I never retook it. My score was actually high enough on it that I didn't need to. But until I knew that, I was furious."

"You understanding my situation doesn't excuse my behavior, sir. I should not have called you that." Picard waved his hand.

"Consider it forgotten," he said. "Besides, we have more important things to discuss. I was hoping you would show up soon, but I didn't want to disturb you in Ten Forward." I started to ask how he knew that I where I had been, but thought better of it.

"Thank you," I said, sitting down across from him. "What is this you were talking about with the Borg?" Picard sighed.

"An hour after our meeting with the Praetor, we received word that three outposts along the outer fringe of the Romulan border were destroyed by the Borg. Already, the Romulans have lost ten ships. Additionally, it appears that the Borg are attempting to wedge part of their fleet between the Romulan and Klingon Empires. Several ships were detected passing Narendra III towards Khitomar less than an hour ago." He showed me a map on his desk computer screen. It was obvious what the plan was.

"That course will take them to Vulcan, and then Earth."

"Indeed. Starfleet is massing a group of ships near Arcanis. It will meet up with the Klingon fleet, and hopefully some Romulan ships."

"Hopefully? What does the Praetor say?"

"The Praetor is no longer on board. As soon as she heard about the attacks, she boarded her ship and headed back across the Neutral Zone. The meeting on Earth will have to be postponed."

"What about Ambassador Spock?" I asked.

"Interestingly enough, Spock requested to be stationed on your ship. And by the way, I suggest you get some sleep. We'll be rendezvousing with the _Ascension_ tomorrow, and you will be assuming your command. Trust me, it's best if you're well rested for things like that." He smiled a little. I was shocked.

"Captain," I began, "you saw how I did on the holodeck. How can Starfleet trust me with a starship after what I did back there?" Picard leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

"You did what any normal person would have done in that situation." I rolled my eyes.

"Don't give me that. _You_ would never freeze up like that." Picard laughed.

"I most certainly would, and have on numerous occasions! At any rate, it doesn't matter at this point. The attack is beginning, and Starfleet is going to need every bit of help it can get. We need you, Mike. Flaws, fears and all, we need you."

* * *

"It is unlocked." Spock's voice was ominous even over the intercom. I walked into his room to find him meditating in his bed. Slowly he rose. "I assume you are here to question my decision to serve aboard your ship," he stated flatly. I nodded.

"Ambassador, I'm honored, but I…I fear for your safety." The Vulcan arched an eyebrow at me.

"My safety would seem to be rather a moot point at this time, given the gravity of the situation."

"Yes, but you could be aboard a ship with an experienced captain. Or better yet, I'm sure we could drop you off on a planet somewhere, where you could…"

"That will not be necessary, Captain. I have chosen your ship for two reasons. The first is that I have followed the project that brought you here for some time, and I am understandably curious about you and your crewmates. The other reason is that my experience as an officer aboard a starship may prove beneficial to you. I appreciate your concern for my safety, Captain, but it is misplaced. I have a duty, and it can best be done aboard your ship." I nodded at the wisdom of his words. I knew better than to shake his hand, so I just stood there.

"Very well. May I say, Ambassador, that it is perhaps the greatest honor I've ever had to get to serve with you?"

"Were I human, Captain, I suspect that I would be flattered by that comment. As I am not, let us dare to presume that I may return the compliment before all of this is over." I nodded, fighting the urge to grin.

"Well, I wish you a good night, Ambassador," I said, turning to leave.

"Captain?" Spock said. I turned.

"Yes, Ambassador?"

"You are not Jim Kirk. Nor are you Jean-Luc Picard. You are Michael Allen. If you can keep that in mind, you ought to do well."


	7. Into the Fire

Chapter Seven 

"I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Allen," Picard said as I looked down at him from the transporter pad.

"Same to you, Captain," I replied. Spock stood next to me in a pip-less Starfleet uniform, motionless. I turned to him. "Ambassador, are we ready?" Spock nodded. I looked back to Picard.

"Energize," he said. The room around me brightened and shimmered. Although the details of the room remained the same, two people whom I did not recognize replaced the forms of Picard and the ensign on duty. As soon as my vision cleared, I saw that the forms were those of Ensign Perez and Admiral Heaton. The former smiled a little to see me, but remained otherwise at attention. The admiral, however, immediately grinned and strode forward to shake my hand.

"Welcome aboard the _Ascension_, Captain Allen." He saw Spock standing behind me. "Ambassador, we've been expecting you. Your quarters have been prepared, if you…"

"I am quite rested, Admiral, and am ready for duty." Heaton looked a little embarrassed, but recovered rapidly.

"Very well, gentlemen, if you would follow me, we'll get started." He turned and walked out of the transporter room. As I walked by, Ensign Perez spoke up softly.

"Good to have you back, Captain," she said. I smiled.

"Good to be here," I whispered back, then hurried to catch up with Admiral Heaton.

"Now, Captain, I think you will find the ship and its crew to your liking. The _Ascension_, like the _Enterprise_, has gone through a substantial refit over the past several months, so there are a lot of new features, many of which will be helpful in the upcoming conflict. And we've spent the past week drilling and training your crew extensively, so you'll find them to be somewhat more…professional than they were before." He smiled a little. I looked around as we walked the hall, recognizing a few faces here and there. Everyone seemed very duty-minded; hardly anyone even looked my direction. We boarded a turbolift. The admiral looked at me.

"I think you'll be wanting to delay the tour of inspection a bit," he said. I nodded.

"Bridge," I said, a little more confidently than I actually felt. As we took off, the admiral's smile faded a little.

"Well, the news is bad, gentlemen. Three ships were intercepted at Khitomar just a few hours ago. The Klingons actually destroyed one of them and badly wounded another."

"That seems like good news, Admiral," I said. "Two ships can't be as bad as three, especially if one of them is damaged."

"It's bad enough, Captain. Before they were able to do much damage, the Klingons had already lost six ships. And the only reason that they were able to destroy the one cube was because three ships rammed it."

"Rammed it!" The admiral shrugged.

"It's their way. Assimilation is terribly dishonorable in their opinion, and they'd rather kill themselves." I remembered Worf's actions in a previous encounter with the Borg.

"Perhaps it _is_ a good day to die," I said.

"Something like that." The doors opened, and we walked onto the bridge.

_My_ bridge.

In the captain's chair -_my_ chair- sat Jerry. He heard us enter, turned, and sprung to his feet.

"Admiral and captain on the bridge," he said very seriously. Everyone turned and stood. I took a few moments to look around the bridge. Johnstone and Tex Newman stood at the forward helm stations, rigid but fidgeting. Tex, try as he might, could not help his infectious grin. I did not recognize the fellow at tactical. But next to him…

My heart leapt into my throat as I saw Julie Brock again. She stood at attention, manning the science station and managing to avoid my gaze. I tried to read the emotions on her face, but couldn't. It had only been a week, and yet I felt she was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. My hands hung loose at my sides, sweating.

"Welcome aboard, Captain Allen," I heard Jerry's voice say, far off. It was enough, however, to snap me back into the present, and I turned to face him just as he was pointing to a padd in his hand. "We will be arriving at the rendezvous point in three minutes."

"Thank you, Commander," I said. He moved away from my chair to his own. I turned to Admiral Heaton, who motioned toward the ready room. I nodded, following.

"Number One, you have the bridge…again." We walked into the ready room, and I saw what was now my office in its resplendent, if somewhat Spartan, glory.

"Your crew is as ready as they are going to get, Captain. You have six hours before the two cubes arrive." He placed a hand on my shoulder. "I don't envy you, Mike. But this is war, and we're about to fight the first incursion. Good luck to you. The ship is yours." He tapped his communicator. "Heaton to the _Byzantium_."

"Captain Harker here, sir."

"One to beam up. Energize." He disappeared, and I was left alone.

* * *

"In five and a half hours, we will be encountering the Borg." I stood in the conference room and looked around the table at my crewmates. I knew most of them; Starfleet had assigned three experienced officers to my bridge crew, and I knew that dozens of others had taken up other stations throughout the ship. And of course, there was Spock. His was the only face upon which I could discern no fear. "I need to know how prepared we are to deal with this situation. Report," I said. Jerry began.

"The _Ascension_ is fully loaded, sir. We have an entire complement of photon and quantum torpedoes, as well as fifteen of the new quasar torpedoes."

"Quasar? What are those?" I asked.

"A new kind of torp, Captain. It stands for 'Quantum Advanced Sub-particle Arterial Reorganization'."

"And what exactly does that mean?" I asked. Jerry leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his chest.

"The subatomic level is a very structured place. Very arterial in some ways, if you will. The quantum torpedo was designed to break down the subatomic structure, effectively destroying particles, not just atoms. It's a very effective weapon."

"Right."

"Well, the Quasar concept is a reorganization of those subatomic structures. The target's matter effectively changes its base elements, and renders it harmless. The process 'package' is delivered through quantum foam to enhance the effect by making it non-temporal."

"Fascinating," Spock said.

"On a damage scale, what is the effectiveness of detonating one of these torpedoes?" I asked.

"Somethin' like 'serious ass-whoopin', Cap'n," Tex piped up.

"That's good enough for me," I said with a grin.

"Anyway," Jerry continued, "our phaser banks are fully charged. I think we're as prepared as we can get at this point."

"Very good, Commander. Thank you. Anyone else?"

"We have a series of weapons in storage for use in hand-to-hand combat," Walker said. "We've got phasers and phaser rifles. Also, we've had some less…standard weapons replicated." I raised an eyebrow.

"Such as?"

"Guns an' knives!" Tex said. Jerry grinned.

"Starfleet has come to appreciate the use of some Klingon and…ancient Terran weaponry in the struggle with the Borg. All officers on board have been issued a bat'leth sword. And those of us from the past," he laughed, "have also been issued one of these." He produced from beside his chair a weapon that, under its very futuristic-looking frame, appeared to be a shotgun. He handed it to Tex, who flamboyantly cocked the gun and slung it over his shoulder.

"Just like bird huntin' back home, Cap'n," he said. I laughed.

"Yeah, except these birds will be attacking you. Why are only people from our time being given these?" I asked. Lieutenant Commander Weston, whom I had only met briefly half an hour before, stood and spoke up.

"Because, Captain, people from our century are not accustomed to dealing with ancient weaponry."

"It's just a shotgun! How complicated can it be?" I asked.

"Starfleet Command felt it was an unnecessary risk to turn its officers loose with them." She said simply. She was a pretty woman, with auburn hair wrapped tight behind her head. She was probably in her thirties, and I got the feeling that she rather resented having to serve under a captain who was younger than her. I drummed my fingers on the table for a moment.

"Well, I'm afraid that Starfleet Command isn't out here. We are." I grabbed the shotgun from Tex. "See to it that one of these things is given to every crewmember on the _Ascension_," I said. Tex stood.

"Aye, Cap'n." He left. Weston sat back down, clearly annoyed.

"Now," I said, "unless there's anything else we need to address, I suggest that we all get to work."

* * *

I stood in my ready room, staring out the window at the fleet. I had counted forty-seven ships in my field of vision, and I knew that there were many more I couldn't see. If the Borg were still coming on the same route, they could be here any time. But where the hell were the Romulans? Or the Klingons? Suddenly, the door chimed. I started and turned.

"Come in," I said. The doors opened, and Julie walked in. I waited a second for the doors to close, then rushed over and embraced her.

"Captain…" she began.

"I missed you," I said, hugging her close.

"Captain," she said again, pulling away. I saw on her face a look of sadness.

"What is it?" I asked, already predicting the answer.

"I don't know if it's a good idea for us to be…" she looked down. "It's just…I really like you. A lot. But…"

"Maybe this isn't the best time to be starting a relationship," I said for her. She nodded. I sighed. "Maybe not."

"Captain…Mike, we could be dead or worse in a matter of hours."

"I…I understand," I lied.

"I'm sorry, Mike," she said, a single tear slipping down her cheek. I smiled a half smile at the bittersweet moment.

"I'm sorry too, Julie." She turned to go.

"Julie?" I said. She paused and turned. "When this is all over…if we survive…would you maybe consider…?" She smiled.

"We'll see what happens, Captain," she said softly, then left.

"Good bye," I said to the door. I sat down at my desk, somewhat overwhelmed.

* * *

"Captain," Jerry addressed me as I walked onto the bridge. "Twelve ships have just dropped out of warp in this sector. The Klingons have arrived."

"It's about time," I said. I did my very best to avoid eye contact with the science station area in general. That was a situation that I would have to deal with at a later time.

"Captain, we're being hailed by the _Byzantium_," Weston said curtly from the Master Situations Monitor.

"On screen." Admiral Heaton appeared.

"Captain Allen, I'm transmitting new coordinates for the _Ascension_. They will allow the Klingon ships better mobility, and put you guys on the fringe of the action. I figured since its your first battle, you'd appreciate that."

"Indeed, Admiral. We'll get right on it."

"Good to hear. Heaton out." His image disappeared from the screen.

"Helm, take us to the new coordinates," I said, sitting down in the Captain's chair.

"Aye, Cap'n," Tex said, already entering them into the computer. I leaned over to Jerry.

"Which one is the _Byzantium_?" I asked.

"None of them. She's behind us."

"Aft viewer on screen," I said. Suddenly, the entire screen was filled by what looked to be part of a gigantic starship. We floated away from its dark, gunship grey exterior slowly; the shadowy feel of the hull only marred occasionally by the light of a passing window or surface light.

"Decrease magnification, helm," I said.

"There is no magnification, Captain," Johnstone said. She turned to face me. "It's a prototype of the new _Dreadnought_-class ship, sir. Fifteen hundred meters long. Seventy-five decks. She has sixteen type-ten phaser arrays and fourteen torpedo bays." I whistled in amazement.

"Makes me feel better 'bout this war already," Tex said.

"Captain," Johnstone cut in, "we've reached our coordinates."

"Good. All stop."

"Now what?" Jerry asked softly.

"Now," I replied with an irritated sigh, "we wait."

* * *

Hours seemed like days. I could sense the crew around me getting restless. _I_ was getting restless! For three hours, we had held the same position, and nothing was happening. Conversations were starting quietly all around. I didn't mind, really.

"Commander," I said to Jerry quietly, "why is it again that the Borg are traveling at warp speed rather than in transwarp?"

"Transwarp conduits are easier to detect and identify from further away. Apparently at this point the Borg still want their presence to go somewhat unnoticed. Also, if Starfleet could detect a transwarp conduit in time, a starship could collapse it very easily, and destroy everything in it." I nodded.

"Took 'em a while, but the bastards are finally learning how to be sneaky," I mused. We sat. Finally…

"Helm, we should be detecting them by now," I said with an edge of irritation in my voice.

"I know, Cap'n. Ain't nothin' comin' on the sensors."

"Hail the admiral's ship," I said. Heaton's face came on the screen once again.

"We don't know either," he said, anticipating my question. "We've got outposts scanning the entire sector in case they changed their course, but…" Suddenly the screen shimmered a little. I could see his bridge shake a little with the shock of an energy blast. "Admiral?" Heaton looked at me and smiled a warrior's smile.

"Ah, there they are!" he said. "Heaton out." The screen returned to the space in front of us, which was now partially filled by two gargantuan Borg cubes. Jerry rose to his feet.

"How the hell did they…?"

"I have no idea," I said. The closest one was heavily damaged, with massive chunks missing and sparks flying across circuitry now open to space. The other cube appeared to have no damage whatsoever.

"Captain," Johnstone said, her voice trembling, "they're headed our way."

Suddenly, all hell broke loose.


	8. The Front Behind

**Chapter Eight**

"Evasive maneuvers!" I roared, jumping from my chair. "Get us out of range of their weapons." The stars shifted as the _Ascension _obeyed, moving past the whole cube toward the damaged one. The bridge shook a little as the first cube fired, raking our shields. "Report!" I said, clutching the arm of my chair and sitting back down.

"Hit to the ventral side, sir. Shields holding at ninety-seven percent," Johnstone said. The turbolift doors opened, and I turned to see Spock coming onto the bridge, his hands characteristically folded behind his back. _How does he keep his balance?_ He assumed the chair on my left, where the counselor I apparently didn't have yet would normally have sat.

"Welcome to the fight, Mr. Spock. Mr. Newman, what's going on with the rest of the fleet?" Tex checked his station.

"They're firin' on the first cube, Cap'n."

"I suggest we do the same," Jerry said.

"Acknowledged. Helm, bring us about. Lock on and fire at will." Tex grinned.

"My pleasure, Cap'n." Without warning, a light blinked on my chair console, indicating that a channel had been opened. Suddenly…

_We are the Borg. Lower your weapons. You will be assim…_

"Cram it!" I shouted, slamming my fist on the console and ending the transmission. "Mr. Newman, please continue." We came about to face the cube from behind, phaser beams dancing across its hull from the various starships in the fleet. Flashes of light from exploding torpedoes turned the eternal night of space into a planet-less day for brief moments. I saw several bluish-white points of light fly at the cube from beneath the primary hull of the _Ascension_, as well as several phaser blasts.

"Report," I said again, feeling a little awkward but not really knowing how else to say it.

"The cube has sustained some damage, but not much," Julie said flatly. Resisting the urge to look at her, I opted instead to lean forward and stare at the other cube as we approached it.

"And this ship?" I asked. "What's its status?" I heard the beeping response of the keys on her console as she checked.

"It's still heavily damaged, but it seems to be repairing itself."

"Why isn't it firing?" Jerry asked.

"Good question." I sat back. The answer to that would have to wait. "Helm, bring us about."

"Aye, Cap'n." Swiftly, the other cube came into our field of vision. Small explosions were forming on its outer skin from numerous phaser and torpedo blasts.

"Jerry, what's the status of the fleet?" I asked. Before he could answer I knew that the news was not going to be good. At the edge of the battle, one starship hung limp in space, a few emergency lights the only illumination to prove its existence in the cold dark void.

"Heavy casualties aboard the _Hugo_ and the _Paganini_." He looked up at me with a horror I had never seen him express. "Captain, the _Scandinavia_ is dead in the water, and…"

"Yes?" Jerry looked sick.

"And she's being boarded." My heart plummeted into my stomach. I gripped the armrests of my chair.

"Open a channel to them," I said. "Starship _Scandinavia, _this is Captain Allen of the _Ascension_. Do you require assistance?"

Static. Then nothing. The transmission was still active, but there was only silence on the line, as if…"

"Take us within transporter range, Mr. Newman," I said.

"But Cap'n," he protested, "we won't know if we're beamin' up people that've been 'similated or not!"

"Beyond that, we can't risk dropping our shields," Jerry reminded me. I thought about this for a moment.

"You heard me, Mr. Newman." Tex sighed and turned back to his station.

"Aye, Cap'n." The _Ascension_ began to cut through the crossfire, and immediately consoles began beeping as other starships signaled for us to move out of the line of fire. Once or twice we were rocked by a blast from the cube, but within a minute, we were on the other side of the battle and at the _Scandinavia's_ side. Spock, who had been silent during the entirety of the conversation and subsequent action, leaned over.

"What you are attempting is unadvisable, Captain." I looked at him; his face betrayed no emotion.

"Spock, we can't just leave those people to be assimilated," I countered.

"It would be illogical to drop shields in the midst of a conflict, Captain. The Borg _are_ quite adept at boarding ships swiftly. Even a small amount of time could be enough to seal the fate of your ship. It is only logical…"

"I understand, Mr. Spock. Your logic is flawless as always, but…" I stared ahead.

The damage looked much worse up close. The _Intrepid_ class vessel had all but lost the port nacelle. Several of the upper decks were exposed to the vacuum of space. Debris, some of which resembled sickeningly the remains of human bodies, littered the space around the small ship.

"Survivors?" I breathed.

"Twenty-four," came Johnstone's even voice. "I'm not sure how many of those are Borg, though. Scanners are picking up several very strong bioelectric readings, but it's impossible to say how many of them are actually assimilated."

"Understood. Bridge to transporter room three. Can you get a lock on the survivors aboard the _Scandinavia_?"

"Affirmative, Captain." It was Perez. Jerry leaned over to me.

"If you beam them aboard and even _half_ of them are assimilated…"

"Assemble a security team in transporter room three," I said, cutting him off. Jerry looked at me for a moment, and then rose from his chair.

"Aye, Captain." He left.

"They will anticipate what you are doing, Captain," Spock said.

"Hail the _Ascension_," I said. Admiral Heaton appeared, looking nervous in his command chair. "Admiral," I began, "the _Scandinavia _is…"

"We've got bigger fish to fry than that, Allen. We've got to get out of here."

"But sir, we can't just leave…"  
"This attack was a decoy, Captain Allen!" Heaton shouted, rising from his chair. "These cubes were sent to keep us focused on this spot! Meanwhile, the bastards have sneaked in through the back door!"

"He's right, Captain," said Weston from her station. "We've just received reports of the Borg attacking Vulcan."

"Vulcan!" I looked over at Spock. He merely arched an eyebrow at the news. "Why would they be attacking Vulcan?"

"It doesn't matter _why_ they're attacking it," Heaton said angrily. "It matters that they _are_ attacking it!" His image flickered a little as the _Byzantium_ was rocked by another blast. "Head for Vulcan, maximum warp! Leave these Borg bastards behind!" His face suddenly filled with sadness. "And leave the _Scandinavia_. They're probably all assimilated by now anyway. Heaton out." He disappeared, and the screen was once again filled with the tragic sight of the _Scandinavia_. Dozens of starships were still engaging the Borg. One by one, however, they were turning and jumping to warp in the direction of Vulcan. For the moment, the Borg seemed to be ignoring us.

"Bridge to Commander Foster. Jerry, are you guys ready down there?" Most of the bridge crew turned around and looked at me in amazement, but I noted with pride that none of them said anything.

"As ready as we're gonna get, Captain. We've got force fields in place, but if any of them tries to go through the field, we're going to have to fire on them."

"Understood. Do what you can. Ensign Perez, are you ready?"

"Yes, Captain." Her voice was shaky. I looked over at Spock.

"We can't _always_ do the logical thing, right?"

"Indeed." I turned and took a final look at the _Scandinavia_. "I'm about to violate our orders a bit. If anyone has any objections…"

"I object, sir." It was the voice of Weston.

"I thought you might. It will be noted in my log." I turned to Spock again. "And you, Mister Spock?" He was silent for a brief moment.

"Perhaps we have found another instance where the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few." I nodded, and then pressed the communications button.

"Lower shields and energize." As I said it, I watched the Borg cube firing at multiple fleeing targets, still taking hits from their ventral sides. Seconds were like hours, but I resisted the urge to get impatient. Finally…

"All survivors aboard, Captain," I heard Jerry say.

"How many of them…"

"Only four are still human, sir." The silence was thick for a moment.

"And the others?"

"They're restrained for the moment, Captain, but…"

"Good. Keep them that way. Allen out." I stood. "Helm, lay in a course for Vulcan. Maximum warp."

"Aye, sir."

"Sir!" Johnstone turned to face me. "During the beaming process, the computer picked up an energy reading on deck eleven."

"Shit! How many drones?"

"I can't tell exactly yet, but it looks like at least twenty of them." I pounded the armrest of my chair.

"Evacuate and seal off deck eleven and post security teams at all entrances and exits. Mr. Newman, engage our new course and get us to Vulcan."

"Aye, Cap'n." I turned to Spock.

"Any thoughts you have on this matter that don't have to do with how stupid I am would be greatly appreciated." If he had burst into laughter at that moment, it would have surprised me no less than his answer.

"The Borg _are_ vulnerable to certain things, Captain. There is a certain…maneuver that I have always wanted to try."

"Be my guest," I said. Spock rose from his chair and approached Julie's station.

"Lieutenant, isolate the environmental controls for deck eleven."

"Aye, sir," Julie said, staring at her console for a long moment. Finally, she seemed to find what he was talking about and complied. Spock fixed his stare on her station, but spoke over his shoulder to me.

"I am attempting to utilize the ship's internal environmental capabilities to incapacitate the Borg drones."

"How?" I asked. I knew that the ship had been specifically designed to be able to accommodate members of various species with differing environmental demands, but I saw no immediate relation between that and the situation at hand. Meanwhile, I felt the slight inertial pull of the _Ascension_ going into warp. Admiral Heaton was not going to be happy about this…

"I am increasing the ionic activity in the atmosphere of deck eleven." He began tapping at one of the science station panels. "I will then release an electrical surge from one of the EPS conduit taps on that deck. Given the bioelectric properties of a Borg drone, I believe they will make excellent conductors of the ensuing discharge."

"You're going to electrocute them?" I asked. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Essentially, Captain. Yes." Despite the gravity of the situation, I felt the corners of my mouth turn up a little.

"That, Mr. Spock, is one of the greatest ideas I've ever heard. Please continue." Spock turned once again to the monitor, and made the final preparations.

"Bridge to security team…" I stopped and turned my head to Weston. "Which team is covering deck eleven?" I asked. I could have sworn she rolled her eyes.

"Team two, sir."

"Very good. Bridge to security team two."

"Security here, sir."

"We're going to attempt to incapacitate the Borg drones in a few moments. Be prepared to move in when I tell you to."

"Aye, Captain."

"And if you can, try to relocate any survivors to the brig."

"Unwise, Captain," Spock said. "The Borg have been known to deactivate force fields from within, and at times even be immune to their effect entirely."

"True, Mr. Spock, but the _Ascension_ was built with that in mind. Starfleet has built a force field that not even the Borg can escape."

"But it has yet to be tested on any actual Borg drones," Spock countered.

"Well, that's just a risk we're going to have to take. If there's any chance of saving them, I want to do it. Besides…" I trailed off.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I want to know how the hell they showed up without being detected." I sat down. In a few moments, Spock turned away from the science station.

"It is ready, Captain."

"Good. Johnstone, put a part of deck eleven on screen." She did, and suddenly we were looking down one of the dark corridors of the _Ascension._ Borg drones shuffled slowly by in different directions. It gave me a chill to watch them.

"Ready whenever you are, Captain," Spock said. I looked into the face of one of the drones and saw absolutely nothing.

"Do it." Spock reached down and tapped the console, and suddenly a bright light filled the viewscreen. A giant arc of electricity shot down the hall, blasting through each drone as it went. I was somewhat relieved to realize that there weren't going to be very many survivors of this, if any. The drones fell to the ground in convulsions, jerking about mechanically for several seconds, and then lying perfectly still.

* * *

"No doubt about it, Captain. Their cubes were equipped with cloaking devices." Lieutenant Commander Kevin Demansky spoke. He had just introduced himself as my chief engineer, making sure to note in his introduction that I had yet to make an inspection of his immaculate Engineering section. He was a tall fellow, with sandy blonde hair and a squarish face. He _looked_ like an engineer to me, standing over the still-prone figure of one of the Borg drones.

"I thought Borg ships were too big to employ cloaking technology," I said. Demansky nodded.

"They were until recently. But some new developments have been made in the field, and now apparently things are different."

"But where did they get it?" Demansky stared at the readout of the Borg's neuroprocessor.

"Judging by the technology signature I'm reading in some of the still-active memory functions, I'd say it was the Romulans."


	9. Backtracking

**Chapter Nine**

We stood in the midst of Engineering, next to the ship's mighty warp core. The one survivor of the energy surge stood upright, still unconscious but restrained against the bulkhead.

"The Romulans?" I repeated. Demansky nodded.

"Or someone affiliated with their technology." I looked at Spock.

"The Bek'Tal?"

"Quite possibly."

"And," Demansky added, "even if it is Romulan technology, we've got a big problem, because it means that they've got something they're not telling us about."

"What do you mean?" He pointed to the readout on the screen above the unconscious drone.

"This drone was assigned primarily to an assimilation team. But its secondary function was maintenance and repair for some of the transwarp drive subsystems. One of these included the upkeep of the cloak generators. According to the readout, the Borg are having tremendous difficulty adapting the technology to fit the bulk and mechanics of their ship types, so this guy was spending a lot of his free time repairing overloaded systems. But despite the fact that the Borg can't seem to use it properly, the technology itself is amazing. While the engineering seems very distinctly Romulan, the loading matrix doesn't even seem to concern itself with things like tachyon bursts or antiproton residue. Usually with a cloaking device, these are the first things to be addressed. I mean, they can't program against them entirely, but they can make it hell to try finding them. But this…" he trailed off, staring at the screen. Then abruptly, he turned back towards us. "This one is entirely different." He threw his hands up, indicating he wasn't at all sure what he was seeing.

"The Bek'Tal then, undoubtedly," I said.

"Who are the Bek'Tal?" Demansky asked. I was unsure whether I should reveal that information or not, so I looked at Spock.

"They are," he said, "a Reman dissident group, formed several years ago."

"Reman?" Demansky repeated with a quizzical look. "I thought they were slaves."

"They are."

"Bridge to Captain Allen." I tapped my communications badge.

"Allen here," I said.

"Captain, there's a Priority One message coming in from Admiral Heaton." I could almost feel the blood draining from my face.

"I'll take it in my quarters," I said. I looked over at Spock, who was standing next to Lieutenant Commander Demansky. "Please take over, Mr. Spock." I turned to leave.

"Oh! Uh, Captain…" I looked over my shoulder at Demansky.

"Yes?"

"Your inspection?" He asked sheepishly.

"I'll get to it, I promise." I left engineering, and within a couple of minutes I was in my quarters. I sat down at the desk and punched up the communications console.

"Identify user," the computer requested.

"Allen-four-two-theta"

"Access granted."

"You wanted to see me, Admiral?" His face was angry.

"Allen, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I was saving lives, sir. There were still four people on the _Scandinavia _who hadn't been assimilated."

"And for the lives of those four people, you very easily might have sacrificed the lives of your crew, not to mention countless lives on Vulcan that your presence might have saved. Tell me, Mr. Allen, do you think that just because Starfleet has brought you into this century and given you a ship to command, that you can blatantly defy orders?"

"No, sir. I…"

"I don't want to hear it, Mr. Allen! Just stay at maximum warp and get to Vulcan."

"Yes, sir."

"And Allen…"

"Yes?"

"Don't give officers from this century weapons from yours." His image disappeared, replaced with the symbol of the United Federation of Planets. I pounded my fist on the desktop. Only one person would have told him that…

* * *

"Weston," I said, entering the bridge. "You're relieved of duty until further notice." She looked furious, but strode off the bridge obediently. Jerry gave me a quizzical look.

"Report, Commander," I said, taking my seat.

"Well, the four survivors of the _Scandinavia_ are resting comfortably in sickbay. By the way, Doctor Sarin says you need to come in for a checkup when you have time." I rolled my eyes.

"It never ends."

"No, it doesn't. Oddly enough there were only twenty-five people aboard the _Scandinavia_ when we beamed them up. We can only assume that means the cube beamed most of them back before we got there. We now have the twenty-one drones in the brig, but I'm concerned about keeping them there."

"Aren't the force fields supposed to take care of that?" I asked.

"Well, yes, but we don't know yet whether or not the Borg can adapt to them. Besides, we can't be sure that they aren't sending messages to their cube or to other cubes." His voice got softer. "We need to eliminate them, Captain." I looked down. _Eliminate them?_

"Helm, time to arrival at Vulcan?"

"We'll be there in 'bout forty-five minutes, Cap'n." I got up.

"Let's continue this in the Ready Room," I said. Jerry followed. Once we were inside, I sat down and put my head in my hands.

"Jerry, you know that we…that Starfleet…has the capability of saving those people."

"Mike, there's no time. The procedure would take too long, and there are far too many of them to do it all at once. Besides, think of how crazy it's going to get in Sickbay very soon. I don't want to do it any more than you do, but I don't see that we have any other choice." I sighed and stared out at the stars. Most of them streaked past my sight very swiftly, distorted by the distinct properties of the warp field around the ship. Some, however, being further off, appeared to move very slowly, and were visible from my window for several seconds. _How many of them_, I wondered, _have the Borg invaded?_

"This really is war, isn't it?" I said rather than asked. The weight of decision was bearing down on me, and suddenly all I wanted was to go home. Jerry sat across from me.

"It sure is."

"Jerry, I don't think I can do this…this whole 'captain' thing."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "What else can you do?"

"I could go home. I could return to my own time, where I belong." Suddenly there was fire behind Jerry's eyes.

"And do what! Wait for the Borg to invade there? Hope that it doesn't happen in your lifetime, and spend the rest of your life pitying those descendants of yours whose fate it is to be assimilated?"

"Jerry, I can't…"

"Face it, Mike!" he yelled, standing up. "You're afraid!" He suddenly remembered his rank and sat back down, visibly calming himself. "I'm sorry, Captain."

"You're right, Jerry. I am afraid. I'm afraid of what could happen to me, but I'm more afraid of what could happen to other people because of me." Jerry folded his hands and leaned across the table.

"But don't you see? We're all afraid. Every one of us is afraid. Even Tex…do you think all that macho crap is for real? Of course it isn't. He's just trying to hide the fact that he's terrified of what the future holds. None of us wants to think about what could happen out there. But we have a job to do. We have people to protect. We have a responsibility, Mike, and we can't shirk that. People need us." I shuddered, again looking at the stars. He was right, of course. Our unique blend of knowledge gave us an upper hand that would have taken years to produce from the Academy. An eternal moment passed between us before the dust seemed to settle.

"What's the best way to…take care of the Borg problem?" I asked. Jerry sighed, leaning back. His eyes looked off, far beyond the bulkhead.

"Probably the safest way is to beam them into space. At warp speed, they'll be torn to pieces from the inertial force. They'll never feel a thing." I gripped the corners of the table and stood slowly.

"Let's do it."

* * *

The brig of the _Ascension_ was, perhaps, the nicest facility for containing prisoners that I had ever seen. It was well lit, comfortable, and warm. Too warm. I began to feel sweat forming on my brow as we entered. _Like a Borg ship._ Apparently, prisoners were kept in the closest facsimile of their environment that was possible.

As we entered, I saw them. Each one was performing a different task, but they all seemed to be bent on the same basic goal: find a way out of the brig. One drone stood at the opening, continually prodding the force field and causing it to crackle with energy discharges. Others were searching the floor plates for weaknesses or cracks. Still others were pounding the wall methodically, trying to eventually break through. All of them save the one at the entrance seemed oblivious to our presence.

The force field tester had been a Bolian male. His ashen face, once a brilliant blue, now only barely sported the famous vertical ridge as his working right eye widened at our presence. The sensor covering his left eye socket came on, and a thin beam of red light shot across the room, scanning first Jerry, then Spock, then me. Just as suddenly as he had looked up at us, he seemed to determine that we were not a threat, and went back to testing the force field. Jerry cleared his throat and tapped his communications badge.

"Transporter room three, lock onto the Borg drones and prepare for a site to site transfer."

"Aye, sir," came the perplexed voice of Ensign Perez. There was a beat. "Locked on, sir. Where do you want them sent?" I looked into the face of the drone in front of me. Did he have a family somewhere?

"Beam them into space," I half whispered. "Energize." Immediately, the drones shimmered and disappeared. I felt the blood drain from my face, and I suddenly became nauseated. Jerry placed a hand on my shoulder.

"I think you did the right thing," he said.

"I'm glad someone does," I said over my shoulder as I walked out of the room.


	10. The Battle of Vulcan

**Chapter Ten**

_Captain's Log, Stardate 81596.3. The Borg War has begun. Admiral Heaton has ordered the _Ascension_ to the proverbial front line, so we are currently en route to Vulcan at maximum warp. This day, which I have been dreading since I was first convinced of the reality of Starfleet's claims, marks what may be the beginning of the end of the Federation. Already, reports are reaching us of attacks along the fringes of Ferengi and Breen space. Thus far we seem to have the Klingons on our side, but as yet no word has come from the Cardassian Union. We are severely undermanned, and our future looks grim. I can only hope that Starfleet has some grand scheme forming that will help to turn the tide of this already gruesome conflict._

I lowered the console at my desk and stared out at the stars as they shot past the Ready Room window. The weight of my earlier decision bore down on me as I contemplated the reasons I had agreed to this mission in the first place. I got up and paced around the room. We were headed into the unknown, about to embark upon what could easily be our last journey. It wouldn't be very long now until we reached Vulcan. _What,_ I wondered, _will we find there? _I approached the replicator, trying to think of something that would calm my nerves.

"Chai tea. Hot," I said. Instantly it appeared, steaming and giving off a very pleasant aroma. I reached for the cup, feeling the warmth radiating from it as my hand closed around it.

Suddenly I was thrown against the bulkhead. The entire ship shook violently with what must have been more than just an energy blast, and immediately the room was bathed in crimson light as the red alert klaxon began to sound. I slammed a hand against my chest, hearing the familiar chirp of the communicator badge.

"Report!"

"Captain, we're under attack! Photon torpedo, sir," came Ensign Walker's voice. I was surprised to hear him, since he had not been on duty at the same time as myself since I had been aboard.

"The Borg?" I asked, regaining my footing and heading for the door.

"Unknown, sir."

"Unknown? How can they be unknown, Ensign?"

"Because whoever it was fired from a cloaked vessel."

"Cloaked!" I demanded as I entered the bridge. Before Ensign Walker had a chance to turn and answer me, the ship was rocked by yet another blast. Half the bridge crew -including, I noted, Spock- went sprawling as we shifted starboard. I gripped the armrest of my chair and hauled myself into it. "Evasive maneuvers!" As the ship swerved to miss being fired at from a ship it could not detect, the planet Vulcan came into sight.

It loomed ahead of us, a giant and desolate thing to behold. Bathed in the harsh, close light of the 40 Eridani star, Vulcan looked to be nothing more than a massive chunk of ugly rock and sand. As we approached it, we saw the distant shapes of several Borg cubes and numerous Starfleet vessels locked in deadly combat. Swiftly, the _Ascension_ shot past the night side of Vulcan, rocking slightly as it withstood a barrage of energy fire from our unseen pursuers.

"Shields at eighty-six percent, Cap'n," Tex drawled concernedly.

"Not good," I muttered under my breath.

"Bring us about, Mr. Newman," Jerry said, assuming his chair next to me. Spock, meanwhile, had hauled himself from the floor and was sitting on the other side of my chair.

"Are you all right, Mr. Spock?" I asked. He nodded silently, but I noticed that his aging frame was not taking the beating of numerous space battles as well as it once had.

"Cap'n, look!" Tex suddenly shouted. I turned toward the screen to see several shapes beginning to emerge amidst the shimmering of stars. The vessels were decloaking. There were five of them, each one reminiscent of Shinzon's _Scimitar_ -vile and deadly bird-like shapes against the backdrop of space.

"Mr. Newman, get a lock on the nearest ship! Lieutenant Brock," I looked at Julie, for once doing a pretty good job of keeping my mind on the present situation. "Identify them as quickly as you can. We don't know how long they'll remain decloaked."

"Aye, Captain," she said, her voice soft and demure. She looked down at her console for a moment, then back up at me. "Definitely _Scimitar_-class, sir. But they don't match any of the ships recorded in the Romulan fleet list."

"The Bek'Tal," Jerry said.

"Captain, they're powering up weapons again!" Johnstone said, bracing herself against her console. I grabbed my armrests, and looked over at Jerry.

"Why would they decloak if they didn't have…" We were rocked by several blasts as the closest ship strafed across the dorsal forward hull. "Lock on photon torpedoes and fire!" I yelled. "Evasive maneuvers!"

"Captain, we're being hailed," Johnstone said. "It's Admiral Heaton."

"Open a channel on audio. Admiral, we're a little busy at the moment," I said as a lance of disruptor fire shot across the forward hull. A near miss…

"Captain, I need you to take an away team down to the surface. The Bek'Tal have beamed Reman shock troops into the city of Shirkahr." For a second, I listened in shocked silence to dead air.

"What about the Borg, sir?" I noticed at this point that the Bek'Tal ships were mingling among the Borg cubes with seeming impunity. While two of them continued to fire on us, the other three broke off and began firing on other starships. This was turning out to be interesting indeed.

"The _Ascension _can deal with them, Captain. Get your men down to the coordinates I'm sending you and join up with the assault team. Picard will fill you in on any other important details. Heaton out."

"Damn!" I said, rising from my chair. Jerry jumped up as well.

"Captain, do I need to remind you that…"

"He told me to go, Je…Number One. Keep this ship together while I'm gone." Jerry sat down slowly, nodding. I looked around the room. "Johnstone, Newman, you're with me." I tapped my communicator badge. "Allen to Lieutenant Commander Weston." A pause.

"Weston here, sir."

"Miss Weston…"

"Mrs. Weston, sir."

"Ah. Mrs. Weston, please meet me in the Transporter Room." Another pause.

"Aye, sir," she said. I turned to leave the bridge.

"Captain." It was Spock.

"Yes?"

"If you do not mind, I would like to accompany you to the surface." I hesitated. The last thing I wanted was to put Spock's life in any more danger than it already was. Of course, he was still in considerable danger aboard the _Ascension_, but somehow it seemed a safer place to be. _Then again, _I mused, _it _is_ his planet._

"Of course, Mr. Spock."

The unappreciated comfort of cool air disappeared with the tingling of the transporter as we materialized on the surface of Vulcan. Sweat immediately began forming on our brows, and we each reached to loosen our collars in response. Only Spock seemed immune to the effects of the heat. In fact, he seemed to breathe a slight sigh of relief, as though the cooler air of a starship bothered him.

"Phasers on 'stun', folks," I said, trying to sound unfazed by the heat.

"Shit, man!" Tex complained, attempting to roll up his sleeves. "It's hotter'n hell out here!" As my eyes adjusted to the brightness of my surroundings, I saw the city of Shirkahr ahead. Picard and his own away team were less than a hundred meters off, waiting on us, while the city itself seemed to be several kilometers off. Shouldering my phaser rifle, I motioned to the rest of the group and began running toward him. On the way, I saw one other team of five materialize nearby and begin heading in Picard's direction.

"What the hell's going on?" I panted as I reached him.

"Remans," he said flatly, signaling for the three teams to begin moving out. As we ran toward the edge of the town, now brandishing our phaser rifles in case of ambush, he explained. "There's a research base in the heart of the city. It's been classified for years, but apparently the Remans have gotten wind of its existence. Starfleet believes that they are attempting to kidnap several of the scientists, though we have no idea why."

"What do they research?" I asked, struggling to keep up with the much older captain.

"Mostly they _begin_ research in fields which are eventually banned," Picard grinned slightly. "They began the research on certain subspace weaponry, which was eventually banned. They did research for a while in various aspects of genetic engineering, which was already banned. In the last decade or so, they began researching quantum instabilities and their reaction to different forms of radioactive decay. Unfortunately, this had the unforeseen result of creating several new forms of deadly radiation. The cover was blown on the site when two radiation types, thelaron and nachron, were discovered to have biogenic effects. Everyone knew about the site and what the researchers were up to, and it has supposedly been shut down ever since then."

"But you're about to tell me that they really weren't shut down, aren't you?" I said, barely able to breathe now from running.

"The indications are that something important is still going on there. Something important enough for a raiding party of Bek'Tal Remans and Borg to wage a large battle just to appropriate something or some_one_."

"The scientists…" I trailed off. We had arrived in the city, and found ourselves finally stopping near one end of a giant courtyard. The streets were desolate; not a Vulcan was to be seen. Swiftly and silently, Picard began motioning for various officers to take places of defense. He did this not a moment too soon, as suddenly a member of the third away team was hit in the chest with a disruptor blast. It hit him so hard that it knocked him off balance, and with only a slight moan he fell over dead.

"Get down!" Picard shouted to the rest of the teams. Immediately everyone complied, finding a place to hide behind as more and more disruptor blasts flew across the open space of the courtyard. I ducked behind a giant stone pillar and peered out, trying to catch a glimpse of our attackers. Finally, I spotted one of them, cleverly hidden behind an overturned crate. Taking careful aim, I fired my phaser at him, stunning him and knocking him down. This had the unfortunate effect of alerting the Remans to my position; their reaction was to fire in my direction with everything they had. I could hear chunks of rock breaking off the pillar I stood behind and hitting the ground with a _thud_. I shuddered with each blast. I looked over at Picard, who was mouthing something at me. I couldn't quite pick it out the first time, so he repeated it: _They've got prisoners; be careful. _I looked, but could not see the prisoners from my position. Nonetheless, I resolved to make sure of what I was aiming at at all times, for fear of stunning an innocent prisoner.

Suddenly, a deathly silence swept the courtyard. I glanced over at Picard, who was looking with frustration at his phaser rifle.

"Damn!" he said, this time out loud. "They've set off an EM surge."

"Who?" I asked, hearing several Remans cursing from the other side. Picard looked confused.

"Since _they're_ not firing either, I would guess that it was the Vulcans." Before I could respond, the entire courtyard was filled with a strange noise. A dozen or so Remans, who had drawn daggers and were approaching our side, stopped in the open and looked around for the source. It was a low drone, increasing slowly in volume until it became a dull rumble.

"That sounds like…"

"Voices," Picard finished for me. At the visible edge of the city, several forms could be seen approaching. In the scorching heat of the Vulcan midday, they appeared to shimmer as they made their way slowly past the outer pillars and into the courtyard. They were clad in large, white robes, and as they came closer it became apparent that they were the source of the droning sound.

"The Kohlinaru!" Picard whispered in awe. Vulcan's answer to monks, the Kohlinaru were the greatest of the disciples of Surak; schooled in pure, emotionless logic. They spent their lives wandering the desert, denying every amenity in favor of pondering the mysteries of the universe. Now, however, it appeared that they were also the protectors of Shirkahr.

They stepped into the courtyard and stopped abruptly. The droning also ceased, leaving in its wake a thick, tangible silence. The Remans stood and stared at them, nonplussed, for several seconds, clearly unsure of how to handle this new development. Clearly, it had been the intention of the Kohlinaru to stack the odds in their own favor with the technology-crippling EM surge. Suddenly, one of the Reman soldier's lunged for the group, swinging his knife at the nearest Vulcan's face. With a movement of his arm so subtle and so quick that I barely registered having seen it, the monk gripped the Reman's wrist, pulled him forward, and brought his arm around behind him. From across the courtyard I could hear the crunch of bone as the soldier's arm was instantly mangled into uselessness. He screamed in pain, an act that had the effect of stirring the rest of the Remans into action. They attacked simultaneously, lunging toward the Kohlinaru.

I stared in utter amazement as, one by one, the unarmed Kohlinaru dispatched the Reman troops into a pile of moaning, writhing bodies. And while the Remans grunted loudly in their guttural, throaty way, the Vulcans made no sound whatsoever. At one point, a blade struck home, slicing into a monk's forearm. The monk made no sound whatsoever, but grabbed the Reman by the face with his other arm, twisting his head in a sudden, neck-breaking motion. The offending Reman slumped to the ground instantly, dead.

Up to this point, all of us had been watching in shock, none of us exactly sure how to proceed. For my part, I was a little concerned that if I joined the fight, the Vulcan monks might mistake me for one of the enemies, and I would wind up another body on the pile. It only stood to reason that they would know not to attack a Federation officer, but I didn't really want to take any chances. Apparently, neither did Picard. He motioned for everyone to stay put as we watched.

There were only five or six Remans left, and it was looking as though we were going to win the skirmish, when disaster struck. Suddenly, a dozen or so shapes materialized in the midst of the arena. All Borg.


	11. A New Opportunity

**Chapter Eleven**

The Remans - what was left of them - immediately backed away from the Vulcans. It was difficult to tell whether they were more afraid of the deadly Kolinahru, or their Borg allies, for they eyed both warily. As the Remans ducked back into the darker recesses of the courtyard (where they were probably more comfortable anyway), the Borg drones began approaching the Vulcans. There was something profoundly disturbing about the slow pace with which they pursued their prey. They were not terribly distant from the Kolinahru, yet at their speed it was clear that it would take the Borg several long seconds to reach them. Seeing a slight opportunity, I made a quick dash from my pillar to crouch down next to Picard and Spock. When I looked up again, I was amazed to see that the Vulcans had not moved from their position. Apparently, even the Borg did not scare the Kolinahru.

They were huddled together very closely, and each one had an arm extended into the middle of their group. I tilted my head to see them better, and was surprised to see that all of the monks had their hands on one older monk in the center, each touching his forehead. They were muttering, but because the communicators were offline, all I could hear was Vulcan. "What are they doing?" I whispered. Spock answered me, but his eyes never left the Kolinahru.

"They are entrusting him with their _katra_. In the likely event that they perish, he will do everything in his power to escape and return to Mount Seleyah." His voice was cold, but I thought I detected that slight hint of emotion that had come with age and wisdom.

"All those minds carried around inside his?" I said, nonplussed.

"Yes. Only a Vulcan with considerable training is able to withstand so many _katra_. It would drive anyone else mad."

"I believe you," I whispered, turning once again to see what would happen. The Vulcans were now reaching into their robes, and quickly each produced a long, sickle-bladed weapon. I had never seen anything quite like it; unlike the traditional lirpa, it seemed to have a handle on each side of the blade, so that it could be used for stabbing or slashing. In unspoken coordination, they each assumed an attack stance and waited for the Borg to close the remaining distance. "Captain," I said over my shoulder to Picard, "is there anything we can do to help them?" No answer. I looked over my shoulder, only to find that the captain was no longer there. I looked at Spock, but he appeared to be just as much in the dark as I was.

The first drone reached the Vulcans, and immediately crumpled to the ground as the forward monk severed its head in a sweeping blow. This elicited no response from the remaining drones other than to step over the body of their fallen comrade. _Two enemies completely devoid of emotion,_ I thought. _This could get very rough very quickly._

And get rough it did.

The one-armed Vulcan stepped forward, his green-stained stump still bleeding but temporarily tied off by one of his companions with a robe sash. In his remaining hand he clutched one of the sickle weapons. With lightning speed, he flung it in the direction of another drone. In an instant, the blood-slicked tip of the blade could be seen protruding from the back of the drone's neck. As it fell to its knees, the Vulcan grabbed the hilt and jerked upward, tearing the drone's head in half as he reclaimed his weapon. I wanted to turn my head and look away from the battle, but my gaze was fixed upon them.

One of the other monks leapt into the center of the group of drones. Utilizing the slashing handle of the weapon, he spun in a half circle in an attempt to eviscerate the surrounding Borg. Unfortunately, this did not work, and the blade stuck in the carapace of the first drone. Immediately, two of the other drones grabbed him and pushed him to his knees. In an instant, two black nanotubes shot out from one of the drones' fingers, piercing the neck of the monk. His face showed only slight discomfort as purple snake-like rivulets began forming over his exposed skin. With a look of resignation, he raised his hand to his companions and parted his fingers down the center. _Live long and prosper. _I could almost hear him saying it. His companions returned the gesture, then one of them mercifully brought down his blade and sliced off the ailing Vulcan's head.

At that moment Picard returned, carrying with him a dozen or so of the strange sickle-weapons. He handed me one and began passing them out to the other officers one by one. Spock raised an eyebrow as he took one.

"How did you get these?" he whispered.

"We passed a utility building on the way in. I thought it might be unlocked, and so it was." We turned toward the fight again. By now there were only seven or eight drones left, and five of the Kolinahru. It was at that moment that the Remans chose to rejoin the fight. With a fierce howl, they attacked the Kolinahru from behind, instantly killing one and wounding another.

Before Picard could even utter a word, Spock's entire body tensed, and he rose with a look so fierce that I backed away slightly in fear. He yelled something in Vulcan, then something in what must have been Reman, because it attracted their attention as he leaped from behind the pillar.

Never in my life had I seen anything like what I witnessed at that moment. The frailty and age of the man were gone in an instant, and he _ran _toward the fray. But with each step, his footfalls appeared to be lighter and lighter on the sand, until he was only barely grazing it as he passed. At the last moment before he reached the drones, his entire body lifted off the ground and spun in mid-air. The sickle-blade, slung from his side with a blurring inertial force, instantly sliced through three of the drones, whose respective pieces hit the ground long after he had moved on to his next victims.

In an instant the remaining energy from his initial sprint carried him up the front of another drone, knocking it violently to the ground. Spock landed with his feet on either side of the drone's head. He bent his knees to jump to the side and break its neck, and as he did he thrust his blade so hard and with such accuracy that it plunged through the faces of the three remaining drones. As they fell, he removed his blade and turned to face the only remaining threat: the Remans.

There were three of them left, and slowly nodding at each other, they dropped their weapons in surrender. One of the Kolinahru bent to pick up their daggers, then backed away. All stared at Spock for a long moment. His features softened, and his jaw went slack. The old man returned, and Spock's face looked more weary than I had ever seen it.

The Vulcan monks regarded him with cold wonder. The oldest one approached Spock and spoke to him in Vulcan for a moment. Spock replied, and the elder raised an eyebrow. Then, he gestured for us to come out from behind the pillars.

"It is safe now," he said in English. "Come. We must remove the electromagnetic dampening field so that you may communicate with your ships." Slowly, still in awe, we stepped into the arena and began moving toward them.

"How did he do that?" I whispered to Picard. His eyes never left Spock.

"I have no idea," he said.

* * *

We stepped out of the blistering heat and into a nondescript building, where we were instantly hit with a blast of cool, refreshing air. The three Remans, now bound at the hands and led by Tex, stood against a wall. The only furnishing the room had was a central command desk, from which one of the Vulcans deactivated the EM field. Tex replaced his sickle-blade with his phaser, and aimed it back and forth at the three.

"Y'all so much as move a muscle, and we gonna be moppin' ya off the walls," he grinned. The Remans said nothing, standing perfectly still and glowering at him. I tapped my communicator as soon as the field was lowered.

"Allen to _Ascension_. Report." Nothing. Picard did the same thing.

"Picard to _Enterprise_. Come in, _Enterprise_." Silence. Puzzlement and fear etched their way across our faces simultaneously. Suddenly…

"Admiral Heaton to Captain Picard."

"Picard here, Admiral. What's going on?"

"Captain, what happened down there? We lost contact with you."

"It's a long story, Admiral. We were caught in a dampening field of some sort, that kept us from…"

"Never mind that, Jean-Luc. The Borg have moved on towards Earth, and I've ordered both the _Enterprise_ and the _Ascension_ to pursue. My ship is also on its way, and we're already out of transporter range. I'm afraid you're stuck on Vulcan for the moment."

"The Borg just _gave up_ on Vulcan?"

"No, they sent down several assimilation teams across the planet's surface. We beamed down as many people as we could spare to help deal with the crisis, but we have to move to where the larger problem is going to be."

"Understood, Admiral."

"Admiral," I said. Picard glanced at me as I interrupted.

"Captain Allen! Glad to hear you've survived thus far."

"Admiral," I repeated, "we stopped the Remans, and captured three of them." There was a pause.

"Really? That could explain why the Remans did not follow the Borg…" There was a long silence. "All right. I want you to see if you can use them to get aboard one of the Reman ships. Neither of you are going to see your ships again for a while. I want you to investigate this matter if you can, and if possible, see if you can find a weakness to exploit."

"Understood, Admiral," Picard said. The link was closed. Picard looked at me, then at the Reman prisoners. One of them spoke up.

"We will die before we let you sabotage our ship," he said resolutely. At that moment Spock approached him slowly, until their faces were inches apart. He spoke softly to the Reman.

"If you resist me, I will tear your throat out." The Reman's eyes widened a little in terror. Slowly, Spock placed his hand against the Reman's face.

"My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts." There was silence as the mind meld commenced. The Reman's muscles tensed in pain, but he did not tear away. For several long moments, we could hear nothing but the sound of their heavy breathing, then suddenly Spock disengaged and backed away. The Reman collapsed back against the wall, fury in his eyes. Spock turned to the rest of us.

"He is V'Eral, and he commands the _Beldek_, one of the _Scimitar_-class vessels."

"And who is his superior?" Picard asked. Spock shook his head.

"He does not know her name. All he had was a mental image, which I confess was…familiar to me, but I do not know how or why."

"What are they doing here?"

"They are here to abduct several of the scientists from the research base. He does not know what for, but I believe it is safe for us to assume that it has something to do with their research into thelaron radiation."

"But the Remans already have the secret to thelaron," Picard said.

"Perhaps not," Spock returned. "What knowledge they did have might have died with Shinzon and his ship. There is really only one way to find out." Picard nodded, approaching the Remans.

"You will contact your ship if it is still in this area. You will tell them that you have located the prisoners, and that all of us are to be beamed directly to the bridge of your ship." He then selected Tex, myself, Spock, Johnstone and Weston to join him as the captured scientists.

"My officers will expect a trap. Prisoners are always transferred directly to the brig."

"Then you will tell them that our presence is required to feed accurate information into the computer concerning your mission." The Reman sneered at Picard.

"That is very unlikely to work," he said.

"Then I suggest you make it work, because I would hate to have to turn you over to him," he pointed at Spock, whose cold gaze still managed to send a wave of fear over the Reman. Tex reached behind the Reman and grabbed from his belt what looked to be his communicator. He flipped a switch, and in a moment came another Reman voice.

"_Beldek_ here, Commander." V'Eral glared at Picard, then Spock, then me.

"Subcommander Shelor, our mission has been a success. We have apprehended our targets."

"We lost contact with you for some time, Commander. Is everything all right?"

"No, you fool! Everything is not all right!" Tex tightened the grip on his phaser, and Spock reached for one of the sickle-bladed weapons. The Reman shook his head at us as he continued. "We lost several of our soldiers in the battle, and there was an electromagnetic field preventing our escape."

"We lost soldiers to…_Vulcans?_" came the voice again.

"Not just Vulcans, Subcommander. Their ability to fight was incredible. But we have defeated them, and have deactivated the shield. Prepare to beam three of us and six of them directly to the bridge."

"Should we not beam the prisoners to the…"

"No, we should not," he said. "We need them immediately for information on our next step. Obey my orders immediately."

"Yes, sir," the Subcommander responded, ending the communication.

"Phasers on stun," I said. Moments later, the room around us disappeared in a shimmer of light.

* * *

We were immediately surrounded by a much darker atmosphere as we materialized aboard the Reman ship. Only the two guards at the door were armed, so Tex and I shot them first, dropping them to the floor. The rest of the bridge crew – there were five of them – stood slowly, hands raised. I looked at Picard.

"What now?" I asked. He motioned to V'Eral.

"Our good Commander here is going to take us back to his superior, aren't you?"

"You will never get away with this!" V'Eral growled.

"We'll see, Commander," Picard said. "Mr. Spock, are you familiar with Reman technology?" Spock nodded.

"It is a complicated language, but the interfaces are actually quite simple."

"Good. I want you to seal off the bridge, and see if there is a way to flood the rest of the ship with an anesthetic gas. Commander V'Eral, you will inform the other ships that you are returning with the prize." V'Eral nodded sourly. "The rest of you, please step away from your stations and line up against the wall." He nodded to Tex. "Mr. Newman, if you would please?" Tex grinned, and one by one stunned the Reman bridge crew. Spock approached one of the command stations and began working swiftly. Moments later he looked up.

"The crew has been subdued, Captain. We have control of the ship."

"Excellent work, Mr. Spock. And now, Commander V'Eral, we need you to perform your duty." Spock opened a channel, and V'Eral began speaking to the rest of the Reman ships' commanders. As he did, I moved over next to Spock and spoke to him in a low voice.

"I was wondering, Ambassador, how did you do what you did back on Vulcan? I mean, it didn't even look like you were touching the ground half the time." Spock half smiled.

"I have spent much time among the Romulans," he said. "I did much studying under some of the former members of the Tal Shiar. The training that I received among the Kolinahru taught me to vanquish a foe using a lack of emotions. The training with the Tal Shiar taught me to do the same thing by focusing negative emotions telekinetically. Combined, the two sets of teachings gave me an unprecidented advantage. I myself was not aware of the power it held until that moment." I nodded grimly.

"All right, V'Eral," Picard said as soon as the link was closed. "What is our destination?"

"We must go deep into Romulan space," he said. "Well past the homeworlds. Course heading mark eight, sector zero-five-four-two."

"All right. Mr. Spock, signal radio silence to the other ships, and cloak this vessel. Lay in our course, at the equivalent of warp factor seven."

"Aye, Captain. Course laid in, Captain," Spock said.

"Engage."


	12. Descent

**Chapter Twelve**

The conference room of the _Beldek_, if that was indeed what it was, was expansive. I sat with my hands resting on the large, onyx-black table, waiting for Spock and Picard. There were three Remans sprawled out on the floor; Weston and Johnstone had been assigned to transporting all the Remans to the brig, but they had not gotten to these yet.

Picard entered, and close at his heels was Spock. They stepped over one of the Remans and took seats at the table. Picard spoke first.

"I'll be very frank, gentlemen. I believe that we are being set up."

"What?" I said. "How so?" Spock, who now stared through his steepled fingers at the table, responded.

"The capture of this vessel was far too easy. There can be no doubt of it. The Remans _expected_ us to take this ship."

"But that doesn't make any sense," I countered. "Think of how many Remans died back there. And surely this V'Eral character couldn't have known what was going to happen beforehand. Even if he were willing to sacrifice the lives of his men, he had no way of knowing that he himself wouldn't be killed."

"Still," Picard said, "the capture was far too easy. Any decent military ship would have had procedures in place to stop us the minute we boarded, whether their Commander gave them orders or not. It was simply too easy to have been anything but a setup." I sat back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. If it was true, then we were flying this ship right into a trap of some sort.

"There are two questions," Spock said, interrupting my thoughts. "The first is _why_ we would be set up. The second is what we must do about it."

"We could break off and head back toward Federation space," I offered. Picard shook his head.

"Unfortunately, the other ships can detect us through the cloak, and they would pursue. We wouldn't stand a chance. And Spock is right about the first question; I think if we knew _why_ they set us up, it might help us know what to do about it."

"If you knew that this was a setup, why the hell did you agree to what Admiral Heaton asked?" I asked. Picard leaned forward, the corners of his mouth turning down sharply.

"Because I believe Admiral Heaton is behind the plot."


	13. The Prefect

**PART TWO**

**THE TERROR**

**Prologue**

It is sometimes in the thickest black of night that one has only to look back to see illumined not only where one has come from, but where one is, and sometimes, where one belongs.

By all accounts I had led a normal life. I came from good parents in a good town, and had a good disposition in life, really. After all, working at a clothing store might not be high adventure or as glamorous a position as I might have liked, but it was better than it could have been. And if ever I became bored with my disposition in the world, I had but to turn my imagination on and warp away to other ones. It was far from an idyllic existence, but it was in many ways ideal.

To say that I was ripped away from that existence is only a half-truth. After all, it had been my decision to stay or leave, and in the end I had chosen to stay. I will never know what I would have chosen if I had known that I would eventually be more or less trapped on a Reman Warbird heading for one of the more dangerous parts of the galaxy. I certainly cannot say whether I would have stayed or not had I known that it was about to get much, much worse.

**Chapter Thirteen**

V'Eral stirred slowly. For our own security, we had kept him under close watch at all times for the past day and a half. He had spoken little, preferring to eat his meals in sullen silence, always watching and usually looking as though he were just waiting for the slightest chance to escape his quarters. We were still almost a day's journey away from our destination, and although I was not at all excited by the prospect of walking into a trap, I could not help feeling a little relieved at the idea of being rid of this prisoner. It was my turn to watch him, and as he awoke I tightened my grip a little on the phaser rifle in my hands.

"Good morning," I said, trying to at least make a little conversation. V'Eral grunted and reached a dark hand up to shade his eyes from the faint overhead light. He sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

"Good for you, perhaps," he growled, slowly putting his hand down and staring forward.

"Well, it could be worse for you, you know," I countered. "At least you're still alive." V'Eral had no eyebrows to raise, but it did not keep that bit of his Vulcan ancestry from surfacing. He stared at me.

"Terran, why do you even speak to me?" His voice was still malevolant, but I sensed a genuine curiosity in his question.

"I like talking, I guess," I said. He snorted.

"_No_ Terran likes to talk," he said. It was my turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Excuse me? Where did you get that idea?" V'Eral looked at me with piteous contempt.

"Do you think I am a fool, Terran? You just want information from me," he said. I sighed with irritation.

"Think what you like. I certainly don't _have_ to talk," I said, and shut up. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, and then he spoke again.

"You would deny the facts about your twisted race?" he asked.

"That would depend on the 'facts' in question," I replied. "What 'facts' are you referring to?" V'Eral stood slowly – slowly enough not to appear threatening – and began to pace.

"Where should I begin?" he said. "Your race is quiet and manipulative. They have never had much in their favor. They have no strengths to speak of. That is why they created the Federation, is it not? To pull from the strengths of others and create an Empire that is centered around the idea of the weak using diplomacy to control the strong. They conquered the Klingons in this manner; there was no armed conflict, no war. Merely sickeningly devious diplomacy. The Romulans, curse them, are also now falling prey to your race's particular brand of conquest. Terrans are the masters hiding in the shadows, sending the slaves to the front to do what they will not and probably cannot do. Can you deny this?" he asked. I stood up, flushing with anger.

"Emphatically," I said. "That's absolutely ridiculous! Who writes your history books, anyway?"

"We learn through experience," he said levelly. "The greatest evidence against you is your inability to act independently. We Remans have fought for that ability, and we have a greater appreciation because of it. And we use it to form a single, unified mindset. That is our reality. One of your fool philosophers once said 'Reality has always had too many heads'. And that is, in essence, the root of the problem for your race. You cannot focus on doing one thing really well, because you cannot _do_ any one thing well."

I stood there, utterly stunned. "You really don't have any concept of humanity beyond propaganda, do you?" I said. V'Eral waved a dismissive hand and sat back down, his sharp teeth protruding through a frown. I continued. "I'll admit that humanity has its flaws. And throughout our history, we have certainly exhibited the behavior you're describing many, many times. But not all of us are cold and manipulative. Even the Federation is not as bad as you're making it out to be. Isn't it worth something that one of the biggest goals for the Federation is maintaining peace?"

"True peace is not attained by diplomacy," V'Eral said. "Unity and peace are desireable, to be sure. But, as with all things, they are only lasting if you have had to pay for them. If we want to have peace with a race, we conquer them and then _maintain_ that peace with them."

"But isn't that just glorified slavery?" I asked. V'Eral's lip curled in a snarl.

"You speak of what you do not understand, Terran! We do not seek to enslave, as the Romulans do," he spat. "We seek the ultimate freedom; one without the tyranny of beaurocracy and seedy manipulation!"

I was silent, considering the ghastly nature of what he was suggesting. I turned to look out the window at the stars whizzing past. Was it possible that this Reman, who had probably never even met a human before, had heard a more accurate account of our nature than we ourselves understood? I started to speak, but in an instant a looming shape filled my peripherial vision, and I felt a tremendous shock wave blast through my skull as somethng hard and black collided with the side of my face.

And then everything went black.

I awoke to darkness, a searing pain tearing back and forth across my skull in a rythmic throbbing. Slowly, my eyes adjusted to my surroundings, and I could see that I was in a small room. The archway in front of me had no door, so I slowly sat up and put my feet on the floor. As I stood up, I noticed that something did not feel quite right. As I struggled to maintain my balance, it occurred to me that I could no longer hear the thrumming of a ship's engines. I was feeling _real_ gravity.

We were there.

Panic struck me, and I gathered my balance and ran for the door…

…And was instantly knocked back flat on my butt. My body tingled with the noisy discharge of the force field, and I swore silently as I picked myself back up. I tried to get as close as I could to the field, to look out. All I could see was a long, dark hallway. I rubbed the tender spot on the side of my face, struggling to remember what had happened.

I had been talking to V'Eral, and had looked away for just a second to…fear and anger and embarrassment all hit me at once. I leaned up against the wall of the cell for support. Suddenly, in the grim silence, I could hear the sound of approaching footsteps in the corridor. I backed away from the archway, with the false hope of somehow making myself invisible to whomever – or _whatever­_ – might be coming my way. Presently, three armed Reman figures came to the archway and peered in at me. One of them was V'Eral.

"Come with us, Terran," he said. "And no tricks." He grinned vilely at me. One of the other Remans looked me up and down, then nodded approvingly to V'Eral.

"Excellent work, Commander; this one will do very well. You have proven yourself, and the Prefect has elected to reward you personally." V'Eral's eyes widened in surprise.

"I am to be given…an audience with the Prefect?" he stammered. The other Reman nodded.

"The Prefect awards valor and ingenuity to those who will serve." He turned to me. "Come with us, Terran," he said, deactivating the force field.

Reluctantly, I complied. As I walked through the archway, the other Reman pushed me roughly into the corridor so that I walked in front of them. I felt the jab of a disruptor in my back as they goaded me forward.

We passed several holding cells similar to the one I had been in. Some of them were empty, but most of them had creatures of indeterminate origin milling around inside of them. As we passed one cell, I thought the figure inside looked vaguely familiar.

"Stop," said V'Eral abruptly. I stopped, and as they deactivated the force field I could see that I did recognize the figure. Jean-Luc Picard emerged, his bald head sporting a fantastic bruise. He looked at me for only a second before complying with their wishes and falling into step next to me as we continued down the corridor in silence.

Finally, we stopped at the last cell. This time one of the Remans went inside, and dragged out a heavily manacled figure, who turned out to be Spock. It amazed me to see how afraid of this aging Vulcan they really were, to have him in leg and arm chains. I remembered his actions in the city of Shirkahr. Maybe they were wise, after all. Still, I felt very sorry for Spock; the chains were heavy, and he had some difficulty walking in them.

It was obvious to me that we were now at the operating base of the Bek'Tal. What our fate would be, I could only guess at shudderingly. One of the Remans had said that I would "do very well". A wellspring of horrors jumped to my mind at the thought of that statement. Were we to be used as some sort of ransom? Surely not, I thought. The Remans would have to know that the Federation would never give in to something like that. Slaves, perhaps? No. There was far too much care and planning that had gone into this for it to simply be a plan to enslave us. It occurred to me that I was probably not the focus of their efforts. After all, I stood next to two of the greatest men in the galaxy. Both men stood to incur the wrath of the BekTal, Picard for killing their pocket Praetor, and Spock for working so hard to unite the Romulans to the Federation through the Vulcans. Perhaps the Reman really meant that I _would_ do very well as a slave, since I was of no concern to them otherwise.

We made our way slowly down the corridor, Spock's chains dragging inches behind him and sending a shadowy echo down the dark corridor. I could hear his labored breathing, and I extended a hand toward him in a gesture of support for his condition. I was suddenly propelled forward a foot or so by the butt of a disruptor rifle.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Terran," one of the Remans barked. I looked askance at Spock, whose face was a complete blank. Picard did not seem to show any emotion either, but I could see his sharp eyes darting back and forth, and I knew that his mind was working. He was looking for an escape.

We came to an intersecting hallway, and were led to the left, where we came shortly upon a sealed door. One of the Remans lowered his disruptor and moved to a keypad on the adjacent wall. He typed in a code, then raised his rifle to us and prodded us to go in.

We stepped into a large antechamber, as dim and cold as the corridor had been. There was a small patch of light coming from somewhere above, and the Remans led us into it. We stood awash in light, and it was suddenly even more difficult to see our surroundings. A voice spoke out of the darkness. It was soft and feminine, echoing around the chamber.

"Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Captain Michael Allen, and Ambassador Spock," the voice said slowly, "welcome."

Something at the back of my mind told me that this voice sounded familiar. I strained to see outside the light and around the chamber, and after a few seconds, I caught sight of a shadowy figure directly ahead of us. It moved with the grace and curvaceousness of a woman, though its face was shrouded by a deeply-hooded robe. It stopped several feet away from us.

"Ambassador, please step forward." Picard and I looked at Spock, who merely raised an eyebrow. Slowly, his chains restricting his movement, he stepped forward into the shadows.

In an instant, the figure brought a naked hand up behind his neck. The hood fell back, and in the darkness a female face came forward and locked onto Spock's in a passionate kiss. An instant later Spock reeled backward, stumbling back into the light. In an instant, the emotional guards he had spent so many years refining were dropped entirely, and a look of pure horror crossed his face. He breathed a single, shaky word.

"Valeris."


	14. Revelation

**Chapter Fourteen**

She stepped forward, the hood completely gone now. As she did, the lights came up in the antechamber, illuminating her features. She looked much as she had almost a century before on the _Enterprise_; a few wrinkles touched her face and her hair was beginning to grey a little, but her eyes still held a flame that was youthful and passionate. In fact, the only striking difference was a deep scar that travelled from the point of her left eyebrow down to her jawline. She smiled at Spock, then Picard, then at me.

"Ambassador," began Picard, who was obviously confused by the whole ordeal, "who is this woman?" But Spock did not answer him. He stood stock still, his eyes locked on Valeris in a horror that he was finally beginning to be able to conceal.

"She's a traitor," I said to Picard. "She was one of the conspirators in the assassination of Chancellor Gorkon."

"Gorkon?" Picard said, calculating. "That was…the time of the peace accords at Camp Khitomer…over ninety years ago." Slowly he was piecing it together. "Yes," he continued, "I remember now. You were one of the top conspirators, and after the peace accords were signed, you were banished to Rura Penthe."

"Indeed, Captain. I am flattered that you seem to know so much. Yes, that's correct. After we were caught, we were sent to that frozen wasteland in place of James Kirk and Leonard McCoy, ironically because killing us would have been harmful to the peace process between the Federation and the Klingons, and the possible future of an alliance with the Romulans."

"Ambassador Nanclus," Picard and I chimed in unison.

"Precisely," she said. I looked around the room, and noticed that there were at least fifteen guards around the perimeter, all of them Reman. "However," she continued, "unlike the Captain and his Doctor, escape was not made so easy for us." She began to pace, looking pensively at the floor as she spoke. "The Romulan Ambassador died first. He had been working his way into the good graces of the guards, playing the manipulation game very well. But he was caught in a dark tunnel one night by some of the more disgruntled workers. They thought that he was an informant for them – which he was, but only for his own purposes – so they killed him.

"Admiral Cartwright killed himself almost a month later. He could not bear the thought of being imprisoned for the rest of his life. When he combined that with the guilt he felt over his alleged disloyalty to the Federation, he turned his dilithium cutter on himself, and ended it all. I myself was there for fifty-six years, four months and twelve days before I made my escape."

"How did you do that?" I asked incredulously. "No one _ever _escapes from Rura Penthe." Valeris laughed.

"You mean no one _used_ to escape from Rura Penthe. There is nothing left to escape. I had been planning it for a very long time. I had watched and waited for a hole in the security of the place for fifty-six years, after all. It was only logical that one should eventually present itself.

"I managed to get a message to a ship, requesting emergency assistance. When I had confirmation from the ship that I would be rescued, I set about preparing for my escape from the beaming shield. The entire plan was nearly perfect, but I was caught at the last moment." She reached up and gently touched the scar on her face. "I had to fight my way out of it, but eventually I was outside the beaming shield. The ship that took me on had no idea that I was a fugitive; they were freighters, moving as quickly and silently through Klingon space as they could.

"I escaped into Romulan space, where I disappeared for a little while. In fact, the only venture back into Klingon space that I made was to return to Rura Penthe and blast it out of existence." There was a long silence.

"Why, Valeris?" said Spock at last. His voice was subdued and nearly inaudible; it echoed thinly off the chamber walls.

"I did it to free them," she said. "To free them from their captors and, more importantly, to free them from themselves."

"You're a monster," Picard breathed, glaring at her.

"Perhaps, Captain. Then again, perhaps not. After all, one cannot argue that I _did_ free them from their captivity. Regardless, I escaped, and now I am here." She walked up to Spock, tracing a finger across his chest. Spock stared coldly at her.

"You know," she said to him, "we did have something _very_ special, Spock. Something…deeper…than just a professional relationship."

"I was not aware of anything beyond that, unless you mean that we might have had a friendship of a sort," Spock said. Valeris clucked her tongue.

"Come now, Spock. Vulcans do not make 'friends'. It is not logical. But come on, can you tell me that you did not have feelings for me that stretched beyond those of just a teacher."

"Under the present circumstances, Valeris, I would imagine that it matters very little what I 'felt', as you put it."

"Oh, but it matters to me. In fact, it has been one of the most dominant thoughts in my mind over the last ninety years. You know, there were nights on Rura Penthe when I wept bitterly because of you," she said, her voice trembling a little.

"It was not I who chose to betray the Federation, Valeris."

"No, but it _was_ you who knew my thoughts. Can you forget that in that moment, when our minds became one, that you knew of my desire for you? The longing to meld not only our minds, but our entire beings. Can you tell me that you do not remember the love I felt?"

Spock was quiet for a long moment, staring down at the floor. When he did look up, there seemed to be a mist over his eyes. Picard and I watched in silent awe as a single tear slipped from his eye, trailed down the weathered skin of his cheek, and dropped silently to the floor.

"I…remember," he said.

"Yes! That is it, Spock. Let your emotion flow. You loved me, and too long have you denied yourself the ability to express that."

For a moment, I thought Spock was going to break down and begin sobbing. But he managed to regain his composure, the stoic look returning to his face. When he spoke, his voice was still soft, but it had an edge of resolution in it.

"Those days are far past, Valeris. You have made your decisions, and I have made mine. The two can never meet."

"I know," she said with a mixture of sadness and resolution. "I suppose I had to try."

"That is understandable," said Spock, his voice now purely logical again.

"And yes, I have made decisions, which is why you are here today." She resumed pacing, looking away from us. "Guards, Mister Spock does not require his restraints anymore. Remove them." The guards looked hesitatingly at her, but were nevertheless quick to obey. They removed the heavy chains from his hands and feet.

"The galaxy is a small place," she said, "and it is only getting smaller. The Federation has made its bed with the Klingons, and soon it will do so with the Romulans. This is, of course, to say nothing of the countless other cultures that have been drawn in under the protective blanket of this menace."

"Do you forget, Valeris, that you were once an _officer_ of this Federation you despise?" Picard said angrily. I knew it was a mistake, but before I could even shoot him a glance, she spun on her heel and grabbed Picard by the throat, lifting him bodily off the ground.

"Terran, I was working my fingers to the bone on a freezing shell of a planet many years before you were born because of the decisions I made while I was an officer of your Federation! I would advise that you forget your ability to speak without being spoken to." She dropped Picard and the menacing tone with which she spoke to him in the same instant, becoming at once the pacing intellectual again.

"As I was saying, the galaxy is becoming a smaller and smaller place. Ninety years ago, we thought that if we could start a war between the Federation and the Klingons, this problem would resolve itself. Now, things are different. There is no hope for the Federation now; it must be dissolved. When I came to this realization, I knew that I had to find a way to bring it about. That was when I discovered the Remans.

"As you are probably aware, the Remans have been an outcast society for generations. My late friend Shinzon used to say they are a race bred for war, needing only a leader to unify them. I let him think for a long time that he was to be that leader, and sadly it went to his head. His untimely demise was a sad necessity, for which I have you to thank, Captain Picard." She nodded at him.

"The Bek'Tal are those Remans whose loyalty belongs to me. Although we have been labeled as a small terrorist organization by most, in reality we are now the backbone of the Romulan Empire, though they do not yet know it. And through the Bek'Tal, I have discovered the way to bring the Federation to its knees once and for all. I have negotiated a deal with the Borg." All was silent, except for the sound of her footfalls as she paced.

"Pardon my curiosity," I said, "but the Borg aren't in the habit of negotiating with anyone. What makes you so special?" Valeris smiled at me.

"I have something they want."

"What could you possibly have that they don't already have?" Picard asked. She shrugged her shoulders.

"The secret to perfection."

"The Omega particle," I breathed, horrified.

"Exactly," she said, and suddenly it made perfect sense.

"You found a way to stabilize it," Picard said. "How?" She did not answer right away, but paced on for a few seconds.

"You know, I'm very fond of old Earth expressions. For example, have you ever heard it said that you must 'fight fire with fire'?" No one replied. "What is Omega?" she asked. "In any form but its most pure configuration, it is the essence of destruction. And it can only be tempered with a similar destructive force.

"Actually, that is a rather fanciful way of putting it," she continued. "The Borg have sought to stabilize the Omega molecule since the dawning of their existence, and they have always failed. I knew that the only way I could ever form an alliance with the Borg was to find the solution to their problem. Fortunately, I had a decided advantage over them, which we will discuss later.

"The instability of the Omega molecule, as it turns out, is due to its pseudo-biological effects on its surrounding environment. The molecule, when introduced to inanimate matter, will convert its molecular properties into a kind of false biological state. The weaker form of this is known commonly as protomatter, which is itself very unstable."

"The Genesis Project," I muttered, astonished. Spock looked sharply at me, and I realized that I should have kept my mouth shut.

"Indeed," Valeris concurred. "Do not worry, Spock. He has given nothing away that I did not already know. Omega _is_ similar to the protomatter used in the Genesis Project, but it is much more potent. And it is the false nature of these protogenetic properties that cause Omega to be unstable; since the matter is not truly organic, it self-destructs, with crippling effects on surrounding matter. Also, since the instability is present even on the quantum level, Omega acts against space-time itself. The Borg knew this, but they had no way to combat it.

"That was why we began experimenting several years ago with thelaron radiation, which proved to be very effective in its obliteration of organic matter. As you are well aware, thelaron works on the subatomic level, which is far more effective than any other method we or the Borg had tried.

"There was one final step that had to be taken. We discovered that the false organic matter created by Omega had to be replaced with actual organic matter for the matrix to work. Specifically, genetic material was what we needed. We searched through numerous genome structures before we found the one that works. It was a stroke of beautiful irony when we found the right genetic material."

"What material was that?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Human."


	15. Pressing Concern

**Chapter Fifteen**

The wind tore through my hair with a deafening howl as giant waves crashed against the rocks of the shore. Above, ominous black clouds roiled in anger as lightning flashed across them and thunder shook the air. Nature was exploding around me in a symphony that I could feel deep in my bones.

_Michael._

The voice was like the thunder, heavy on the air. But its sound was soft and tremulous, the voice of a woman. The voice of Julie. There was no direction from whence her voice had come, but I instinctively turned toward the sea. Not far from the shore, she huddled perilously on an outcropping of rock, the golden tresses of her hair catching the wind and whipping across her shoulders.

_Why did you leave, Michael?_

The gauzy fabric of her dress flowed over her body and dipped into the sea. My heart beat against my chest in an arythmic, painful throbbing. I knew I must go to her. Pull her from the rock and take her to safety. I saw the deadly waves, and fear caught me for a moment. But I had left her there, and I must brave that fear to bring her back.

I waded into the sea, feeling its violent attempts to thrust me back ashore. I leaned into the waves, trudging forward toward the rock. With every step, my heart grew heavier. Fear and an unexplained sadness gripped me.

_I'm so sorry, Michael…I never meant for this to happen._

_Meant for what to happen?_ I shouted into the wind. But there was no response. Ahead, very close now, she huddled on the rock with her back to me. I was almost to her. I was reaching a steadying hand out to her when she spoke again. But this time the voice was different. It was cold.

_The galaxy is becoming a smaller place, Michael._

Her head turned, and she faced me. I recoiled in horror as I saw a mechanical eyepiece, and black rivulets spread across her face where nanites swam through her bloodstream. Her remaining eye viewed me passively as she grabbed my arm. I tried to backpedal, but the force of the current now worked to drag me further into the sea. In a motion as fluid as the water around her, her body slid from the rock and up against mine.

_Behold perfection, Michael._

Her lips parted, and she tilted her head sensuously toward me, leaning in. White light radiated from her mouth as she connected, pressing her lips against mine. I tried to scream, but I was suddenly mute. I felt the heat of the light pouring into my mouth, the tangible force of energy coursing through my body as our kiss deepened. I looked into her staring eye, and saw the light coalesce into the perfection I feared. It was Omega. The particle radiated in her eye, pulsing and growing until it filled my vision. Her kiss, the warmth of her body against mine despite the chill of the sea, her fingers pressing against the sides of my face – all of these things became a secondary reality to me as overwhelming, terrifying perfection swam between us.

_Resistance is futile, Michael._

Tex was shaking me. I opened my eyes, and the haze of the nightmare lifted, though its dark spirit lingered around me as I sat up.

"You all right, Cap'n?" he said, concern on his face. For a long moment, I couldn't speak. I rubbed my eyes, and looked around at our detention cell. In addition to Spock and Picard, I was surrounded now by Lietenant Commander Weston, Tex, and Carrie Johnstone.

I jumped up, still recoiling from the horror of my dream. I looked around wildly, hit with a sudden wave of claustrophobic panic. Tex put a hand on my shoulder.

"Cap'n, you ok?" he repeated. I stepped away from him, and his hand slid off my shoulder as I moved toward the archway.

"No," I said. "We've got to get out of here." Frantically I began searching the surrounding walls for a weakness.

"You might do better to conserve your strength, Captain," said Spock. "At present, there is no viable means of escape."

"They're suffering," I said. "We have to get out of here and help them!"

"Agreed, Captain. But until an opportunity to do so presents itself, all expenditure of energy would seem to be a waste," he said coolly. I looked at him, seated on the floor next to Weston, who gave me a look of thinly veiled disdain.

"Permission to speak freely, Captain?" she said, standing. I nodded, my eyes still scanning the room.

"Go ahead," I said, my frustration building.

"Can we expect your nightmares affecting your judgement to be a fairly regular occurrence?"

At that moment, I had finally had enough of her.

"What the hell do you expect me to do!" I shouted, getting up in her face. "Do you want me to just sit here, knowing what's about to happen to us? Or what's probably already happening to our friends?" I was gesticulating wildly now, and I could feel the anger in me bubbling over uncontrollably. Weston backpedaled a little.

"Sir, I…"

"Don't _'sir'_ me, Lieutenant Commander! I know what you did back on the _Ascension_." I stepped forward toward her again, pointing a finger in her face. "Look, Weston, I didn't ask for this assignment. I accepted it because the Federation needed help, and they thought that I would be a good choice. And who knows? Maybe they were wrong about me. But _you_ have never even given me a chance!" I threw up my hands and turned away, shaking my head. When I turned again, Weston's face seemed a little pale.

"What do you want from me?" I asked. Picard spoke.

"I think perhaps she wants some assurance that her captain is not going to be ruled by his emotions." In the stillness following his comment, I was deflated. I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. I was sure he was right, but I didn't want to admit that to Weston, even though she seemed now to have lost her air of defiance. It was at this moment that Ensign Johnstone spoke.

"With all due respect, Captain, I think that there's a bigger issue here. Captain Allen is right; most of the people from this time are not even giving us a chance to prove ourselves." Weston turned to her, looking a little more comfortable confronting a subordinate.

"That's not true," she said. "You people have proven yourselves several times already to be unfit for the posts Starfleet has given you!"

"Still, Lieutenant Commander," said Picard, "I think that even you would agree that we all make mistakes, especially in the face of difficulty." I looked at Picard. _Whose side is he on, anyway?_ I wondered. "After all, how would you react if _I_ had made those same mistakes?" he said. Weston frowned.

"But you would not have made those mistakes, Captain."

"_Au contraire_," Picard countered. "I have defied Starfleet orders more times than I care to rememeber, and many times there have been severe negative consequences."

"Would you all like a little more time to work this out?" said a gravelly voice. We all turned, and were met with the sunken face of V'Eral.

"What do you want?" Picard asked bitterly.

"What I want is not important. What _is _important is what must be done."

A dark fear settled on me as I realized what he meant: _to the gas chambers with us._

"So they're ready to kill us now, are they?" said Picard. V'Eral began pressing in his security code.

"Your 'integration into perfection' is to begin today, yes."

"And they gave _you_ one last chance to stab us in the back by taking us to our 'integration'?" I said malevolently. V'Eral just shrugged. With an audible drone, the forcefield deactivated.

"They might have if I had asked. As it stands, the duty still belongs to the guards, who will be here in an hour."

There was a silent moment in which we looked at each other and back at V'Eral. I tried to find the words I was looking for.

"You mean…?"

"Eradication is not perfection, Terran. We have many differences, some of which I should like to get to know more about at my leisure. But the debate of subjugation versus freedom has no place for the removal of a race from its existence." He waited. None of us moved. "Come with me now," he said. "I have a way to get you out of here, but you must hurry. It will not be long before they discover that the security viewers have been disabled."

For a moment, we hesitated. Then Tex spoke up.

"Well, shit folks!" he said. "If he's a'gonna kill us, he ain't got no need to lie 'bout it." There was a silent acquiescence as we all moved toward the archway.

We walked silently through the dark corridor, following at V'Eral's heels. He carried what looked like the Reman equivalent of a tricorder, and consulted it before each turn we made. Finally, we came to a doorway, which opened with V'Eral's security code. The door closed behind us as we entered, enveloping us in an inky blackness.

I nearly turned back when the stench hit me.

"What the _hell _is that?" Picard said, a little too loudly. V'Eral hissed for him to be quiet in the darkness. There was a click, and the tricorder he carried suddenly lit up a small portion of the room.

"We are in the refuse docking bay, and _that_," he said, pointing at a dull gray hunk of metal in front of us, "is your means of escape." I winced as I took in another breath of the putrid air. The ship looked to be about four or five times the size of a shuttlecraft, though it was difficult to tell for sure in the dim light of the tricorder.

"A garbage scow," Spock said. "Fascinating." V'Eral pointed toward what looked to be the back of the ship, and we could see that a door was open.

"The owner of this ship will be here very soon. If you hide in the cargo hold, you have a good chance of getting out of here," he said.

"What about you, V'Eral?" I asked. "Shouldn't you come with us?" V'Eral glowered at me.

"Do not mistake this for friendship, Terran. The Prefect is insane, that is all. I must stay behind and try to undo some of what is being done. Should I survive, we will be in contact." He backed away, looking over his shoulder into the darkness. "I must go."

He looked at Spock for a moment, the raised his hand and parted his fingers.

"Live long and prosper, kinsman," he said. Spock solemnly raised his hand to do the same.

"Peace and long life, V'Eral."

With that, he disappeared out the door, and we were left in darkness. Picard was the first to say anything.

"Everyone stay together. Let's find a place to hide in this thing."

We linked arms, and moved deeper into the night.


	16. Comique

**Chapter Sixteen**

I sat in the dark, concentrating all my energy on not gagging. I found that if I thought more about the smell, the imminent danger of the situation did not seem so close. This worked for several minutes, as we all huddled in the cargo hold of the small ship. But suddenly, my fears were renewed as the lights came on in the interior. I threw a hand in front of my face, shielding my eyes against the painful burn.

Outside, I could hear a muffled noise. Voices. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting as they adjusted to the light around me. I immediately wished I hadn't. The cargo hold was a disgusting place, with numerous forms of decaying refuse scattered about. However, the room was enclosed, with only one entrance to the fore, and it did not seem that we were in too much danger of being caught at the present.

Unless, of course, they decided to open the cargo bay.

In anticipation of this, Picard began motioning for all of us to hide ourselves behind or under something. This was easier said than done, though; there was nothing in the entire cargo hold that looked remotely inviting. Johnstone was next to me, and she grabbed what looked to be a piece of an old ship, attempting to lift it quietly. I reached out to help her pull it over us. The metal was slimy, and slipped from my hands on the first try, nearly dropping. In panic I reached my arms under it, coating my sleeves with the vile slime. Slowly, we succeeded in hefting it over our heads and crouching down underneath it. Within a few seconds, everyone was hidden in a similarly unpleasant circumstance.

The sound of voices soon became the sound of a single voice. This was somewhat relieving, since I figured that at worst, all of us together could overpower one person. There was a strange scuffling noise as the person – presumably the pilot of the vessel – opened a door at the front and boarded. Also, the timbre of the voice changed somewhat. It took me a second or two of hearing it before I realized that I was hearing the pilot sing. It was very muffled, but it seemed like a lively (and somehow dirty) tune. Within a few seconds, I could hear the ship's engines coming online. A now-familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach rose as the antigrav plates kicked on. We were leaving this place.

I could feel the ship lifting off of the docking bay floor, and I heard the thrusters engage as we moved forward. I moved only my eyes, feeling Johnstone's body pressed up against mine awkwardly under the heavy piece of metal. After several long moments, I could hear the others stirring, and slowly Johnstone and I did the same. Everyone looked as bedraggled as I felt, though Spock held his bearing very well, especially for having a bluish ooze dripping down one side of his face.

"Do y'all think he can hear us?" Tex whispered. Picard shook his head, standing.

"No," he said cautiously, but out loud. "If the scow had any surveillance equipment, it would mean that its owner was _looking_ for stowaways, and it would have already alerted him to our presence by now."

"The fact that the ship has not yet been recalled to the surface indicates that the Remans are not yet aware of our missing status," Spock said simply, wiping his sleeve across his matted hair.

"So what do we do now?" Weston asked – more to me than to Picard, I noted.

"We wait," I said, "until we are far enough away that it is safe to secure the ship." I looked askance at Picard, who nodded in agreement.

"Once we are far enough away, we ought to be able to take the vessel fairly easily, without too much risk of pursuit."

"May I remind the captains," Spock said, "that we are not in Federation territory. As of yet, the Neutral Zone has not been abolished. Nor has the Federation been granted any sort of diplomatic immunity within the Romulan Empire except upon special occasion. As such, the action of comandeering a ship under those circumstances is risky at best. It is vital that we refrain from committing actions, the end result of which might be a degree of mistrust on behalf of the Empire." There was silence for several long moments as we considered this.

"You know, Ambassador, you really do remind me an awful lot of Commander Data," Picard said wistfully.

"Thank you, Captain," Spock said sincerely.

"Where does this leave us?" I asked. "I mean, it's not very likely that this ship is even headed anywhere _near_ the Federation, and it's even less likely that the pilot is just going to drop us off at a starbase."

"True," said Spock. "For the record, I was not indicating that the forceful taking of this ship was a bad idea. I merely meant to convey that it would be prudent to consider, if we are to do so, what the best method might be."

"Do you think we could just knock him out?" Johnstone asked hopefully.

"Perhaps," Spock said. "But we are a considerable distance from Federation space at present. It is questionable whether we could maintain a secure status for the entire journey."

"The last hostage situation didn't turn out very well," I said, remembering the still-tender spot on my head.

"Anybody 'sides me think maybe we shouldn't be leavin'?" Tex said suddenly. We all stared at him.

"Come again?" I said.

"Well, maybe we've got ourselves a chance tuh fix this problem here an' now!"

"Mr. Newman," Spock said, "how would you propose that we do that in a garbage scow?"

"Beyond that," Picard continued, "I think that it's clear that we have very little time left. The Remans will surely know that we are gone shortly, and I don't think it will take them long at all to ascertain our whereabouts. Turning this ship around and heading back toward them would be a very bad idea."

"Good try, though, Mr. Newman," I said. "That's officer's thinking." Tex smiled at the compliment.

"Thanks, Cap'n," he said.

At that moment, the door that separated us from the rest of the ship opened. The corridor beyond was dim enough that it took a moment before we could really see the pilot standing there, arms folded. He stepped boldly forward into our midst, and two things became readily apparent.

_He_ was a _she_. And _she_ was drunk.

She was a Romulan of medium build, with dark hair that fell well below her shoulders. One of her ears was pointed, but the other was rounded like a human's. To complete the look, she wore an ugly green eyepatch over her right eye. She looked at us for a moment with her inebriated other eye, and then spoke.

"Welcome to the…my ship," she said, "the whatever-it's-called…"

Even with the smell of the surrounding garbage, the pungent fragrance of liquor expelled itself from her mouth in my direction as she slurred, threatening to overwhelm my senses as I looked at her with shock. She put one arm on Picard's shoulder, and with the other she made a show of slowly pointing toward herself.

"I am Admiral Shailin," she said, belching softly between the title and the name. "An' this…is my ship. 'Sa good ship, don' ya think?"

"How can it be that you are acting under the title of Admiral," Spock asked, "when in fact no such title is used in the Romulan Empire?" Shailin smiled at him.

"My ship, my rules Mister Vulgan…no," she looked confused. "Vul-CAN," she corrected herself heartily. "I'm not with the Fleet; I do what I wanna…did I mention that this," she said, throwing her arm in an expansive gesture that threatened to topple her already unsteady position, "is my ship?"


	17. The Shortest Distance

**Chapter Seventeen**

There was a long moment of silence as we all stared at her. I looked at the pilot as she staggered backward, and something inside of me broke loose. The tension that had been building within me the past several months suddenly overflowed, and I began laughing uncontrollably. It was infectuous; within a few seconds everyone except Spock and the self-appointed Admiral Shailin began laughing as well. Tex, wiping a relieved tear from his eye, stepping forward.

"Well, Cap'n, I guess we don't hafta worry 'bout how hard it'll be tuh win _this_ battle." He reached for Shailin's hands to restrain her, and was suddenly met with a fist in his gut. He doubled over instantly, the wind audibly escaping from him as she brought a leg around and knocked his feet out from beneath him. He crashed to the deck, and was instantly hauled back up with his hands bent painfully far up behind his back. It happened so suddenly that none of us had even moved. We stared in shock as she used a free hand to grab his hair and pull his head back.

"Tha's a bad idea," she slurred. "I may be drunk, but…" she belched again, "I can still fight." She released him, throwing him toward the bulkhead. He reached forward instinctively and caught himself, sucking in deep breaths of the putrid air. "Now," Shailin said with a grin, "you want rescued or not?"

The so-called bridge of the garbage scow reminded me of something one might see on a Klingon Bird-of-Prey, except smaller. It smelled a little bit better than the actual cargo hold, but not much. We sat patiently while Shailin injected herself with a hypospray – the modern equivalent of drinking a lot of coffee. Within a few seconds, she was somewhat sober. She moved to the captain's chair at the center of the bridge, and stood beside it. Though she was not slurring as much now, it was readily apparent that the drug she had just taken was not an instant cure. She would need some actual rest, and probably a lot of it, before she could be considered to be operating within normal parameters. Nonetheless, she looked considerably more ready for whatever lay ahead of us than she had a moment before. She rose to her full height, clasped her hands behind her back, and began to speak.

"I am sure that you are all wondering why I want to help you. Let me make that perfectly clear for you; I don't. I don't even like humans, much less have any desire to help them out of a difficult situation. Especially one which puts my poor ship in danger." She put one hand on the seat next to her, either to caress it fondly or to lean on it for some stability – or both.

"But, Commander V'Eral and I are…old friends, and I owed him a favor. I guess he didn't have time to tell you that part. That, or he just likes putting me in difficult situations. You can never tell about those Remans. Interesting lot. Anyway, I can't get you to the Federation; my life would not be worth more than the garbage I'm carrying if I did that. But I _can_ get you to Romulus. You'll have to figure things out from there."

"How do you propose to get us to Romulus?" Spock asked. "Surely your warp capability is not nearly that of a battlecruiser, and I doubt very much that we will not be pursued, if we are not already." Shailin grinned.

"You Vulcans and your logic. It just so happens that I know a way of eluding their sensors and getting there faster than them. Call it a shortcut," she said. Spock raised an eyebrow.

"There are very few 'shortcuts' in space. The shortest distance between two points is…"

"Yes, yes, a straight line," she said impatiently. "You really don't know where you are, do you?" All of us shook our heads in tandem. "Well," she continued, "this particular region of space is not very conducive to 'straight lines'. The course we're going to take is a little more dangerous than the Remans normally do. They will more than likely be looking for us to be heading directly for the Neutral Zone, which we will not be doing. Besides, if I know V'Eral, he's already working on creating false tracks for them to follow. We should get to Romulus without much difficulty. It will be getting out of there that will be tough, for you and for me."

"Why for you?" Picard asked.

"Because security is not what it once was," Shailin said with pain in her voice. "It used to be that if you wanted to do something illegal and escape, all you had to do was bribe the right official. But ever since the assassination of the Senate a few months ago and that whole Shinzon mess, things are different."

"Bribing is no longer an option?" I asked.

"Oh no, it's an option. But it's a lot more expensive. Ridiculous cost these days, bribing." She sighed. "I miss the good old days. People don't have the ethics they used to."

"I see," Picard said wryly. "Well, if you can get us to Romulus, I can promise you that I will speak on your behalf to the Praetor herself."

"Oh, that's quite all right," she said, a mortified expression on her face. "Let's just say I've had too many…questionable transactions over the last few years to want to be noticed by anyone in the government."

"Oh," Picard said simply. Spock chose this moment to speak up.

"Might I inquire as to the nature of the…cosmetic difference in your ears?" Shailin stared straight forward, glaring at the viewscreen.

"Elective surgery. I was very young and drunk, and I don't care to discuss it." I looked at Spock as one eyebrow arched subtly over the other. Next to him, Picard stifled a grin.

I moved to the back of the bridge and stood next to Tex, who looked a little worse for the wear.

"Looks like we're going to make it out of this one intact," I whispered to him.

"Yeah," he whispered back, rubbing the back of his head, "well you didn't just get yer ass whipped by a girl."

Shailin stepped around and flopped down into the captain's chair, pulling a squeaky side-console over the right armrest and locking it into place.

"We'll be activating the singularity drive now, so I would advise that you brace yourselves."

"Brace ourselves?" Weston said curiously. "Why would we need to do…"

In an instant, all of us tumbled to the deck as the ship entered the Romulan equivalent of warp speed. The shock receded instantly, but it was a few seconds before I moved, for fear of another tumble. I rolled over and propped myself up on the palms of my hands.

"What the hell was that all about?" I asked. Shailin shrugged.

"Not every ship has perfect inertial dampers," she said calmly. Picard got up, dusted himself off, and tugged at his uniform.

"Commander…" he began.

"Admiral," she said, correcting him.

"Sorry. _Admiral_, what exactly _is_ this shortcut of yours?" he asked. She grinned an evil grin.

"I'd prefer to keep it a surprise," she said. "The Romulan name for it is _Shek'dal Sor_." Picard looked to Spock, who shrugged.

"It means _'bone cruncher'_, Captain."


	18. Bone Cruncher

**Chapter Eighteen**

For the first half hour after we left, all was calm. There were no signs of our pursuers, or of anything beyond the warp-distorted illusion of passing stars. I sat on the cold metal floor next to Tex, wondering when I had last had a decent night's sleep. Tex sat for some minutes, bouncing his legs up and down and fidgeting with his hands. Finally, he stood.

"Is there a bathroom on this here ship?" he asked. Shailin turned and grinned at him.

"You were just in it a little while ago," she said. Tex grimaced, but turned to walk to the back of the ship. I could hear him muttering to himself as he left. I smiled. It was nice to know that even in the worst of times, there was usually something that I could find amusing.

I stopped smiling when I considered the "worst of times" part. It occurred to me that I did not know how long it had been since I had left the _Ascension_. Mental calculation told me it could not have been more than a day or two, but it seemed an eternity. I wondered how Jerry was faring, or if he was faring at all. I could not bring myself to actually complete the dangerous thoughts that were prowling on the edge of my mind.

I thought of Julie, and became nauseous. Why did I keep dreaming about her? I had never really placed a lot of stock in the idea of premonitions. But then, I had never placed much stock in the idea of time-travelling to a fantasy universe and being caught in the middle of an intergalactic war, either.

It was reasonable to assume that I was falling in love with her, as silly as the thought seemed (after all, I hadn't really known her _that_ long). Looking back on past relationships, I knew that I usually fell for a girl fairly easily, but it seemed like a stupid thing to do in the middle of a conflict such as the one we were now involved in.

But then, perhaps that _was_ the reason. Maybe in the thick of battle, all I had to cling to was the fleeting hope of a romantic relationship swiftly arrived at. I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that with each nightmare, with each wakeful thought of her, my stomach was wrenching itself into knots.

I found myself once again fighting panic. Despite the fact that we were moving toward our destination at speeds long deemed impossible in my own time, I could not shake the wish that we would get there faster. Even the knowledge of almost certain doom awaiting us could not deter my desire to stop puttering around in the middle of nowhere. I got up from the floor and walked over to the command chair.

"Admiral," I said, "any idea how long this is going to take?"

"It will take a lot longer if I cannot concentrate on what I am doing." She pointed to the viewscreen. "We are coming within visual range."

I looked up at the screen, and was surprised to find more than the previously barren starfield. In the distance, growing larger as we approached, was what appeared to be an open wormhole. It looked very similar to the Bajoran wormhole, except that it remained open.

"A stable wormhole," Spock confirmed. "Perpetually open. Fascinating."

"But why would it be perpetually open?" I asked Shailin. She shrugged.

"From what I have heard, it began as a supernova in this system millenia ago. The star collapsed in on itself and formed the beginnings of a black hole. But as it began to pull the surrounding planets in, it first caught a nebulous discontinuity. The ensuing gravometric distortions were so powerful that they actually destroyed the black hole, and the force of impact created this wormhole.

"Meanwhile, the residual pull from where the black hole had been was still strong enough to suck in the planets of the system, breaking them to pieces as they were forced into the relatively narrow opening of the wormhole. And because of the nature of the nebula that created the wormhole, the mass of the planetary sections keeps it in a constant state of temporal/spatial flux. In other words, open."

"Fascinating," Spock repeated. "And I presume that this is our destination?"

"You presume correctly," Shailin replied.

"Hot damn!" Tex said, emerging through the archway to the bridge. "What in tarnation is that?"

"Admiral," Picard said, "are you suggesting that we're about to enter a wormhole that is filled with debris?"

"Precisely."

"Doesn't that strike you as being rather dangerous?" he asked. Shailin laughed, and tapped at her eyepatch.

"How do you think I earned _this_?" she said. "Of course it is dangerous! But it will also put us on the doorstep of Romulus in a matter of hours."

"And how long will it take the Remans to get there, using their own route?" Spock asked.

"Three to four days, if they hurry."

"They will most assuredly hurry," Picard said, seemingly resigning himself to the wormhole.

"That's assuming that they will know where we're going," I said. Picard nodded.

"Good point, Mr. Allen. I think at this juncture we should be prepared for the worst, but you might be right. We will have to see just how good Commander V'Eral's distractions really were."

Everyone fell silent as we approached the gaping mouth of the wormhole. Massive in diameter, the wormhole spiraled with plumes of multicolored energy. We seemed to be the size of a very, very small insect as we flew into it. I could feel the ship shake a little as we crossed the threshold.

"Switching to manual control," Shailin said, more to herself than anyone else it seemed.

"Wouldn't it be better to let the ship's computer plot the course?" Picard said nervously.

"Too much distortion inside the wormhole to get accurate sensor readings," Shailin replied. "It is much safer to feel my way through. Trust me, I have done this many times."

Her words did not seem to comfort Picard, and I found that they didn't comfort me much either. I personally didn't want to come out of the other end of the wormhole in need of an eyepatch. But I had to admit that she seemed very confident of what she was doing.

Ahead of us stretched what looked like an endless cloudy tunnel of roiling light. We seemed to be moving more slowly as we entered the corridor. Dead ahead, we could see the remains of a planet floating inside the swirling vortex of the wormhole. The largest piece was massive – so huge that part of it disappeared from our view over its horizon. It filled most of the viewscreen as we maneuvered toward it, and from our angle the flashing haze cast an eerie sunrise across the mutilated planetoid.

Smaller chunks of the one-time planet hung perfectly balanced along our path. Several of them were slowly spinning, doubtless still acting upon the influence of some previous flight through the nearly frictionless environment. There was almost a sad peace about this place, as if the strife and hardships plaguing the galaxy of today had no business here. As we silently glided over thousands of kilometers of frozen landscape, I wondered at the name of the wormhole; somehow 'bone cruncher' didn't seem fitting.

My silent question was answered as we reached the planet's terminator. Scattered across the available space of the wormhole, stretching as far as the eye could see, was a veritable minefield of asteroids. I sucked in a surprised breath, as did several others on the bridge.

"Fascinating," Spock said.

"You're not actually going to take us into that, are you?" Weston asked incredulously. Shailin grinned.

"We could always go back and see if the Prefect will give us an escort to Romulus."

"Please, proceed," Picard said. If his feathers were ruffled, he showed no signs of it now. In fact, the only sign of discomfort that he bore at all seemed to come from standing _next_ to the captain's chair instead of sitting _in_ it. At least, that was _my_ perception.

"Everyone hold on to something," he said to the rest of us. "I have a feeling that this is going to be a rather bumpy ride."

"Remind me to thank you for your confidence, Captain, once we are safely on Romulus."

"Sarcasm noted, Admiral. My apologies."

"At least you remembered my title this time," she said smugly. Picard smiled.

"Anyway," she continued, "we only have to survive about an hour of this, and then we will be through the other side."

"An hour?" I said. "Through a wormhole? Why will it take so long?"

"Not every wormhole works the same way," she said. "Besides, navigating this particular one requires some…skill."

"Why don't you just blast 'em out of the way?" Tex asked.

"Because," Shailin said, beginning to sound exasperated, "disruptor fire is not advisable in here. If we hit something and did not completely destroy it, it could spin off into the wall of the wormhole and cause some very serious problems for us."

"Besides," Picard said with an air of solemnity, "we must walk softly, for we walk among the dead."

"You must walk softly because I need to concentrate!" Shailin snapped.

"Sorry," Picard said. We all fell silent as she began piloting the ship manually through the asteroid field. We could feel the inertial pull as the ship rolled and banked, weaving its way through the planetary graveyard.

I stared bleakly ahead. It seemed as if I could hear Morricone's _A Sillhouette Of Doom_, or Mozart's _Dies Irae_ in my head as we flew. True to her word, Shailin's piloting skills were proving to be second to none, despite an abundance of close calls. After about twenty minutes of rocking back and forth among the asteroids, I discovered that my hands were hurting. I looked down and realized it was because they were clenched so tightly. I unclenched them, and wiped the sweat from my palms on my pants. I looked over at Weston. Her faced seemed a little green.

"Seasick, Weston?" I asked, trying to sound lighthearted. She immediately straightened her posture, casting me a pitiable look of defiance.

"Not at all sir. I'm just…not very acquainted with this particular kind of space travel," she said.

I tried not to smile at her. The last thing I needed was for her to think that I was patronizing her. I decided to try a little Picardism on her. "Suck it up, Lieutenant Commander. We've got a ways to go."

Amazingly, this seemed to illicit the exact response that I had wanted. She nodded respectfully – _respectfully!_ – in my direction, and took a deep breath.

"Aye, Captain," she said. Her sudden change of demeanor brought back to my mind fantasies of being the best damned captain Starfleet had ever seen. Of standing on the bridge of that ship, giving orders to a crew so loyal that they would follow me into hell…

My reverie was broken suddenly as one of the asteroids collided with the ship.

"Shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiitttttt!" I heard Tex's voice with an odd detachment as he flew over my head toward an instrument panel. In the thousands of years that passed as I watched him go by, I had time to notice the change in the pitch of the voice, his facial expression evolving from surprise to horror as he realized where he was headed. Mozart's _Dies Irae_ turned into a largo movement of a string quartet, long ago presumed forgotten but somehow stored in the recesses of my mind.

The moment his body crunched into the instrument panel in a shower of sparks, time snapped back into place.

"Report!" Picard said as he hauled himself up from the floor. Shailin glared at him, and he seemed to remember himself. "It seems that one of the fragments hit us," he corrected himself.

"No," she said grimly. "That was disruptor fire. Assume tactical stations!"

It took a beat for us to realize what she meant. Then we all quickly assumed posts at the three stations available to us. As soon as I got to the station nearest me, I realized that I was not going to be any help. I could read a Starfleet LCARS screen and know exactly what was going on any day, but the Romulan panel meant nothing to me.

"Two ships, closing in at twelve thousand kilometers," Weston said from across the room.

"Divert all available energy to the aft shields," Shailin said.

I decided that since there was nothing I could do tactically, I would divert my attention to Tex, who was at this point crumpled in a heap on the floor, unconscious. I shook him by the shoulder, and he seemed to come around.

"Cap'n, you ever seen a Texas girl?" he asked with a grin.

"No, I don't know that I have," I said. "Are you all right?"

"Umph," he groaned. "Prettiest damn things you'll ever see," he said slowly, then lost consciousness again.

The ship shook with another blast of disruptor fire.

"Admiral," Spock said calmly, "how long until we reach the end of the wormhole?" Shailin glanced at the screen on her armrest.

"Fifteen minutes at best."

"Very well," Spock said. "I suggest that you continue to monitor our position, and leave the tactical calculations to the rest of us."

Shailin clearly did not like this plan, but after a moment she nodded, and once again focused her attention ahead.

"Shields down to seventy-three percent!" Picard said, manning a nearby station.

"Main power weakening," Spock said. "Preparing for emergency switch to auxilliary power."

Ahead, the viewscreen split into two images; one of the asteroids ahead and one of the two Romulan ships that pursued us. A burst of green energy lanced from the forward ship, missing us by what seemed like inches. Ahead of us, one of the chunks of planet exploded in a miasma of colors, bits of it splaying outward in a deadly fireworks show. Some of the chunks of rock flew right into the wall of the wormhole.

There was an instant response, as if the rock had made the wormhole angry. Fierce-looking ripples shot out from the rock's entry point, and suddenly the whole side of the wormhole's wall thrust itself up in a gigantic plume of energy.

"Hold on!" Shailin shouted. She rolled the ship hard to port – so hard that I thought the inertial dampers were going to give out, and we were going to die very suddenly. But we shot past the plume, banking immediately back to avoid a collision with another asteroid once we got to the other side of it. On the aft viewer, only one of the Romulan ships got as lucky as we had. The other shook briefly as the energy wave overtook it, then promptly exploded.

Ahead, the far mouth of the wormhole became visible. The screen shook again from disruptor fire.

"Main power gone," Spock said. "Auxilliary power is up. Shields at twelve percent." Another blast. "Four percent…shields are down."

I looked at the Romulan ship on the screen, and noticed something even more terrifying behind it."

"Admiral!" I shouted, still holding Tex's inert torso up, "look at…"

"I see it!" she snapped. Behind us and the other ship, it was apparent that the wormhole was collapsing. "Divert all power to the engines!" Shailin shouted.

"But won't that leave us vulnerable to…" Weston began. But it was too late. Spock had already done what the Admiral said, and the ship suddenly shot forward with a renewed burst of speed. The last asteroid passed us, and we shot out of the end of the wormhole, just in time to see the Romulan ship exit it behind us.

As it came out, however, something seemed very wrong. First, it stopped moving forward, as if it had been on a rubber band and suddenly reached the end. Then, slowly, the ship began to distort at its aft section. It elongated back toward the mouth of the wormhole, which by this point was spiraling darkly in tighter and tighter circles. Within a few seconds, the ship was nothing more than a very small green line, and was sucked into the cascading demise of the wormhole. With a gigantic explosion that rocked our ship wildly, the wormhole and the Romulans in it were no more.

For a few moments, nobody did anything but catch their breath. Finally, Shailin turned and grinned at us.

"Set course mark four-zero-zero-point-two for Romulus," she said, rising. "I believe I've earned a drink."


	19. A Ray of Hope

**Chapter Nineteen**

Tex was hurt – badly. It was not until I attempted to get him up from the floor that I noticed a pool of blood spreading from beneath him. A nauseating laceration ran from the right side of his neck to the base of his skull. His breathing was extremely shallow, and I realized with a sudden horror that he was probably dying.

"Do you have a medkit?" I yelled at Shailin frantically. _It'll be all right,_ I told myself. _This is the twenty-fourth century; this is nothing more than a flesh wound._

Shailin jumped up from her seat and walked over to an instrument panel. From beneath it she produced a battered metal box with some sort of Romulan symbol on it.

"I don't know what this will do for him," she said, "since he is not Romulan. But I will try."

I moved aside to let her kneel next to him. She opened the box and pulled out a kind of dermal regenerator. She waved it over the cut for several long seconds. I watched with slight relief as the ragged flesh began to close itself crudely. As would be expected, Romulan medical equipment performed more functionally than aesthetically. Tex would have a hell of a scar, but he would probably live. Shailin took a hypospray and placed it against the other side of his neck. Tex's eyes fluttered open as the hiss of the hypospray expelled itself. He slowly sat up, wincing as he did.

"What happened?" he asked, his drawling accent thicker than usual. Then he promptly vomited on the floor in front of him. I glanced at Shailin. She shrugged.

"I told you it was for Romulans."

"Coming up on Romulus," Spock said. Everything had quieted down on the bridge. Tex was in Shailin's cramped quarters, sleeping off the effects of the medicine and his wound. Johnstone was with him, in case he needed anything. I was still a little worried about him; he didn't seem nearly as recovered as I would have thought. But then, what did I know, really? I found myself leaning on Johnstone's ability to take care of him while I worked. It was actually kind of a good feeling to know that this all really was a team effort.

"Slow to impulse," Shailin said. The streaking of the stars ended, and I felt a slight lurch as we left warp speed behind us. Ahead, Romulus loomed. It was strangely alone in space.

"Where is Remus?" I asked, afraid of the answer. Picard looked at me for a moment, seemingly speechless. Then he answered.

"In real life, Mr. Allen, there is a significant distance between planets. Remus is several billion miles away from here."

_Oh yeah,_ I thought, wanting to kick myself. I silently cursed the magic of special effects.

"Admiral," Spock said, with a strange tone in his voice. I looked up at him immediately, and saw that something was not right.

"Yes, Spock? What is it?"

"Romulus, Madame. It is overrun." We all turned to look at the screen as Romulus became much, much larger.

There were dark spots on the surface of the planet. Some places seemed pitted and scarred, as if something huge had battered it over and over. Portions of the atmosphere were pitch black with what must have been smoke. The planet looked ruined.

"Life signs, Mister Spock?" I breathed.

"Approximately three billion, Captain." Spock said. That did not sound too bad until he continued. "The last known population of Romulus was around sixteen billion."

"It's been utterly decimated," Weston said, never taking her eyes from the screen.

"Scanning," Spock said. "The damage to the planet matches Borg weapons specifications in many places. In others…" he looked up, "Type Four Romulan disruptors."

"Damn," Weston said, staring forward. As we got closer to the planet's surface, we could see bits of debris scattered above the atmosphere in the places with the heaviest damage. "Looks like the Remans had a hand in this, too," she said.

"Indeed," Spock said. His face remained passive, but I knew that he must be under considerable emotional strain. He had refused to speak on the subject of Valeris before, which told me that he was having a difficult time dealing with his emotional approach to her. Now, before us lay the wrecked world that Spock had spent so long trying to unify with its roots. I imagined that he was feeling as though a good portion of his life had gone to waste. Shailin, strangely, seemed indifferent to the whole thing, though she was silent as she stared at the planet.

"I'm detecting twelve vessels approaching," Picard said, his voice edgy. "Eleven of them are Romulan, and one is Federation." His face brightened. "It's the _Titan_," he said.

Will Riker seemed much more imposing in person than I had always imagined him. He stood almost a head taller than me, with the barrel-chest of a sailor. He greeted us as we stepped off the transporter pad.

"Captain, it's good to see you again," he said with a smile. "You'll forgive me if I'm still very surprised to find you in these parts."

"Good to see you too, Will. I wish it were under better circumstances," Picard replied. Riker's smiled turned to a quick frown.

"Agreed, sir." He turned to look at the rest of us. "Ambassador, always a pleasure." Spock nodded. Riker looked at me. Then at the pips on my uniform. "I'm sorry, Captain, but I don't think we've been introduced."

"Michael Allen of the _Ascension_, sir," I said, trying not to shake his hand too vigorously – I still hadn't gotten used to meeting fictional heroes in real life. Riker must have noticed something in the stupid grin on my face. He looked askance at Picard.

"It's a long story, Number…uh, Will." Picard almost blushed. Riker's smile returned.

"Gentlemen…" he looked behind us, "…and ladies, I can tell that you all need some rest." He was looking especially at Tex, who was standing on his own, but barely. He sniffed the air. "And a shower probably wouldn't hurt you either."

"All in due time, Will," Picard said. "But first, tell us what's going on. How's the battle faring?"

I could tell from Picard's tone that he didn't really want to know. Frankly, I didn't either. It is a rare and very uncomfortable thing to _need_ to know something that you would rather let alone. The grim look on Riker's face did nothing to ease the tension. He motioned for us to follow him. We stepped into a corridor that led us to a turbolift. Two ensigns on duty met us there.

"These men will escort the rest of you to your quarters, and you to sickbay," he said to Tex. "Please make yourselves at home. I need to speak with the captains and Ambassador Spock." He nodded at the ensigns, and the rest of our crew was led away. Shailin looked sheepishly at Riker.

"If it is all the same to you, Captain, I would rather return to my ship. I have a feeling that I need to get out of this sector very quickly," she said. Picard nodded to Riker, who stepped back and let him handle it.

"Admiral," Picard said, "you've been most helpful. If there is any way we can further show our appreciation…"

"Just don't tell them it was me if they catch you," she said. "That will be sufficient payment. To be honest, Captain, I shall be glad to be rid of you." With that, she went back into the transporter room. Riker shrugged and stepped into the turbolift.

"Bridge," Riker said, and we were moving.

"How bad is it, Will?" Picard repeated.

"Well, Captain, they've managed to surprise us again. As you saw out there, they laid waste to most of Romulus. And, as you might expect, the Fleet hasn't been able to do much to stop their advance into Federation territory."

"How many ships?" Picard asked, his voice catching a little.

"At the moment, we're not exactly sure." The turbolift doors opened to reveal the bridge of the _Titan_. It was a wreck. One of the far stations was heavily damaged, its glasslike frame shattered to reveal naked circuitry. Around the bridge, several panels blinked yellow; this ship was on alert. The young ensign at the conn – an attractive young blonde woman – turned toward Riker as we entered.

"Report," Riker said.

"Captain, the Praetor has signaled the okay for us to leave."

"Excellent. Break orbit, and plot a course for the rendezvous, maximum warp. Engage when ready."

"Aye, sir."

We followed Riker into the conference room. I noted that Picard had shown the wisdom to wait to continue the conversation until we were out of earshot of the rest of the crew. No need to scare them if they didn't know the whole situation.

"What do you mean by 'not exactly sure', Will?" he said.

"Just that, Captain. For one thing, they've destroyed half of our outposts; so long-range scanning has become more and more difficult over the past few days." As Riker said this, I could see Picard's face fall.

"You said that they've surprised Starfleet. What you're describing isn't very surprising."

"No, it's not. What _is_ surprising is that after they took out the perimeter of posts, they just stopped."

"What?"

"That's what we said, too," Riker said, punching up an image on the display screen. It showed a map of Federation space. The space began to populate with tiny green dots, representing the Borg. A long line of cubes stretched in an arc, forming a kind of border across space. There was a very large concentration at one of the far ends of that line.

"What do you make of this?" Riker asked to the room in general, pointing to the cluster of ships.

"It would seem that they are grouping for a massive attack," Spock said.

"Right," Riker agreed. "But there's a problem with that. Even with every ship in the Fleet, they don't need that much firepower. It's serious overkill. And yet as we've watched over the past day and a half they've been doing it, more and more ships are clustering to that spot."

"Processing," Spock stated flatly. We looked at him. Spock folded his hands behind his back and began to pace. "It would seem that the Borg are building a base from which to process the human genetic material, of which they will shortly have a mass quantity."

"Human genetic material?" said Riker. "What do you mean by that?"

"He's referring to the Omega particle," I said. Riker's eyes went wide.

"Captain Allen, that is highly classified information! You should know that we can't discuss this in front of…"

"Ambassador Spock is already aware of the particle, Will," Picard said.

"Indeed," Spock said with a nod. "There are certain priveleges which accompany a lengthy tour of duty in Starfleet."

Riker seemed to cool a little. "All right," he said. But I think that for now, we can all agree that the conversation we're having does not leave this room." We all nodded. "Now," he continued, "what is this all about?"

Picard sat down at the table. "The Borg's alliance with the Bek'Tal has produced a rather fearful new problem, Will. The Bik'Tal have researched the Omega molecule, and they have found a way to stabilize it. At least, that's what their leader has claimed."

"You met their leader?

"Yes. I'll explain all of that later. What's important, Will, is that the key to stabilizing Omega is apparently coded into the human genome structure. Therefore, humanity is not merely set for assimilation, but also for total annihilation."

Riker sat down heavily, passing a hand through his hair.

"This is bad news, Captain."

"Yes, it is. If what the Ambassador suggests is true, then it's likely that the Borg mean to use every single human they assimilate as part of their project to create perfection."

"The question," I said, "is what can we do about it? I mean, we can't exactly evacuate Earth. And even if we could get some people away, where could we go? We don't have transwarp, and at this point there's nowhere we could escape to where they wouldn't find us." Everyone was silent for a long moment. Spock, who had stopped pacing, turned.

"There is one detail which may be of use," he said. "Valeris seemed to indicate that it was the Bek'Tal who had discovered this human link to the Omega particle. Frankly, I find that most unlikely, as it implies an almost impossible."

"How so?" I asked.

"The Borg, to our estimation, have assimilated multiple thousands of species. To assume that the Bek'Tal discovered the way to stabilize Omega makes sense. However, to assume that they had the 'luck' to be in the right place at the right time, and discover humanity to be the correct genetic structure, is illogical at best.

"Further, I believe that we have seen evidence of a somewhat preferential treatment on the behalf of the Borg toward humanity. For example, Captain Picard was assimilated into their collective with the purpose of acting as a bridge between the two races. Of all the records that we have on the Borg and their habits, this particular gesture has never shown up with any other race. In fact, it seems that the Borg have been bent on conquering humanity for some time now. For example, years ago at the battle of Wolf 359, the Borg directly attacked the Federation. Specifically, their attack was aimed at Earth. It would be only slightly logical to assume that they were attacking Earth because it is the cornerstone of the Federation. After all, the Romulan and Klingon Empires, both of which stand between the Federation and the Delta Quadrant, were left completely unscathed."

"But they're being attacked now," I said.

"Indeed. But it seems as though the attacks the Borg have made thus far may only have been made to prevent other powers from interfering with their plans. A decade ago they had little to fear from the Romulans, because the Romulans would not have done anything to help the Federation. Now, the Federation has the Romulan Empire on its side, and that is a formidable threat, even to the Borg.

"I would postulate, therefore, that the Bek'Tal were not the first to discover the human genetic factor. I believe that the Borg had knowledge of it, and their alliance with the Bek'Tal is based solely on the secret to thelaron radiation."

"How does thelaron radiation come into this?" Riker asked.

"It removes the pseudo-organic matter from Omega," Picard said. "Without it, they cannot stabilize the particle."

"How can this knowledge be useful to us?" I asked.

"I do not know at this time," Spock said. "But it is inherent that in a partnership where one or both sides are deceiving the other, there will be a weakness. Possibly one which can be exploited."

Picard stood. "How long until we reach the rendezvous, Will?"

"About forty-eight hours, Captain."

"And the _Enterprise_?"

"Waiting for the return of its captain, sir," Will said with a smile.

"What about the _Ascension_?" I said. Will frowned, and tapped at the console on the wall. A list popped up, displaying the ships at the rendezvous.

"It appears that she's there too, Captain. Looks like a Commander Foster is presently in charge."

Relief washed over me. Maybe the universe hadn't completely gone to hell in a handbasket yet after all.


	20. Almost Home

**Chapter Twenty**

I sat at the computer console in my quarters, hands trembling. I could hear my pulse beating in my throat as I stared at the Federation emblem emblazoned on the screen, waiting for my hail to be answered.

We had agreed on the strictest of security measures for the time being, considering the likelihood of Admiral Heaton's betrayal. Picard and I would contact our ships, but there was to be no release of information about our survival or whereabouts to the rest of our crews, or to anyone else. It seemed like the best thing to do, despite the fact that by the time we got into Federation space, there might not even _be_ a Federation Council left to investigate the admiral.

The screen shifted, and Jerry's face came into view. As soon as he saw me, he grinned. It was infectuous; a wave of emotion hit me as I looked at my old friend.

"I see my plans to get you killed and take over the ship didn't work," he said. "Too bad; I would've made a hell of a captain."

"Don't give up hope just yet, Jerry," I said. "Report. What's our status?"

"Believe it or not, with all we've been through in the last few days, we've come out of it fairly unscathed."

"That's good to hear. And…" I hesitated a moment.

"She's fine, Mike." He winked. "You didn't think I'd let the captain's woman get hurt, did you?"

"She's not…"

"I know. But just for the record – and you didn't hear this from me – she's been pretty worked up since you left. She hasn't said too much, but I can tell that she's worried sick about you. Of course, I'm sure that once I tell her you're…"

"You're not telling her," I said. Jerry's expression froze.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not telling her," I repeated. "That's an order. No one is to know that we've been in contact until we get a few things straightened out."

"Things like what?"

"We believe we have a mole in the system," I said. "Admiral Heaton may be a traitor."

Jerry scoffed. "C'mon, Mike. The man may have sent you on a dangerous mission – stupid, even – but that doesn't necessarily make him a traitor."

"It's more than that, Jerry. I don't have time to explain it all right now, but suffice to say that a lot of what we've seen in the last few days can't be explained away very easily." I could see the look of confusion in Jerry's eyes. "Look," I said, "I'll be back on _Ascension_ in less than a day. I'll explain everything to you then."

"I hope you're working on a fast-moving plan to stop whatever it is. We're shipping off to the front within two days."

"I'm doing what I can," I said. Jerry smiled.

"You know, Mike, we've been friends a long time. But it still kinda bugs me that I seem to have no problem trusting my life in your hands."

"Same to you, pal," I said genuinely. "Take care of yourself, and I'll see you soon."

I ended the transmission, and sank back into my chair. I knew that things were about to get a lot worse than they had been. The moment of truth was finally going to be upon us, and the pressure of the decisions that I would have to make in the next few days was already starting to mount. Still, as I looked at the monitor where Jerry's face had been only seconds ago, I had to force back a smile. He was alive. My crew was alive. _She_ was alive.

And, apparently, she missed me.

* * *

One of the things that surprised me most about the future was how many things had not changed. The minute I entered _Titan's _Sickbay, the first thing that hit me was that it smelled like a hospital. Very…clean. It was also very full. Every bed had someone in it, and there were a lot of beds.

"Can I help you?" a familiar voice said. I turned sharply, nearly running into the man standing behind me. Then my jaw dropped.

"Doctor Phlox?" I said. The old Denobulan smiled, an inhuman grin which stretched well beyond the borders of what human lips could do.

"Glad you recognize me," he said. "And you must be Captain Allen. Glad to have you aboard."

"But you…" I said, trailing off.

"Yes, I'm several hundred years old. You know, I get that more than you would think. Nobody considers it strange to see a centuries-old Vulcan, or even a Trill, if you care to get philosophical. But everyone forgets about the Denobulans."

"You don't look like you're that old," I said, trying to be complimentary. But it was true; he looked as if he'd hardly aged since his tour on the original _Enterprise_.

"Thank you, young man. I like to think that I don't feel old, either. As you can imagine, that one is somewhat more difficult to accomplish."

There was a silent moment, during which I nearly forgot what I had come to Sickbay for. I remembered suddenly as a new voice joined the conversation from across the room.

"I hope I'm not hallucinatin'," Tex said groggily. "I was sure that any good hallucination came with pretty girls."

"Ah, Mister Newman," Phlox said. "I'm glad you're awake.

"How is he, Doctor?" I asked.

"Oh, he's fine. He has a minor concussion, but these days that is nearly the equivalent of scraping one's knee. He should be fit for duty in a few hours."

"Good. May I talk to him for a little while?"

"I don't see why not. I'm fairly certain that if you weren't here, he would be talking to _someone_ anyway." He turned and walked toward the other beds in the room.

"Thank you," I said with a smile. I walked over to the biobed and stood next to Tex. His face was a little more pale than usual, but otherwise he looked to be in good shape.

"Ain't no use lookin' at me envious, Cap'n. You ain't never gonna be as pretty as this."

"That's a brave thing to say for a man who probably doesn't even have the strength to arm-wrestle right now." I smiled as I said it; Tex was going to be all right. For the moment, all of my crew was intact. It was a very good feeling.

"Cap'n, you look like you might could use a shot of the stuff they pumped into me earlier."

"No doubt," I replied.

"Well, you distract him for a minute, 'an I'll loan ya my drip."

"I heard that," came Phlox's voice from across the room.

"Oh well," I said. "Maybe next time."

"Cap'n?" Tex said, his grin vanishing. "Is there really much point in fixin' me up?"

"I don't know what you mean," I lied. Tex just looked at me. For a moment, the happy-go-lucky crewman from whom I had come to expect constant cheeriness, was replaced by a sad, scared shell of a man. "Yes," I said after a beat. "If we die tomorrow, we will die healthy." The grin returned almost instantly.

"Yer right, Cap'n. It's hard to open a can of whoopass with a dull can opener."

"I couldn't have said it better, Tex."

* * *

As the door to Spock's quarters opened to allow me in, I heard the sound of a Vulcan lute. Replicators were amazing things; even though none of his personal effects were on this ship, Spock's room looked as if a Vulcan had been living here a long time. There were candles burning everywhere, and the air carried the aroma of a type of incense I had never smelled before.

"You wanted to see me, Ambassador?" I said, looking for a place to sit. Finding none, I stood just inside the door and folded my hands behind my back. Spock looked up from his sitting position, his hands coming to rest over the still-quivering strings of the lute.

"It seems that I owe you an apology, Captain," he said.

"For what?" I asked. "What horrible crime have you committed lately?"

"Do you remember our initial meeting with the Praetor?" he asked. I did, and was surprised to realize that it had only been a few days ago.

"I remember," I said.

"You told us something that day, Captain. Something which we should have listened to." He looked at me silently. I struggled to remember the events of the conversation. There had been a lot about battle plans, but so much had happened since then that I could not conjure up a clear memory.

"What was that?" I finally asked.

"You told the Praetor that she should not keep the presence of the Borg a secret from her people. Admittedly, you told her in the haste of emotion, but it was true." He paused, allowing me to remember that portion of the conversation. "Many Romulans died today because your warning went unheeded."

"Ambassador, you had no way of knowing…"

"Logic, Captain. What you said was logically the best course of action. The idea was that the Romulan people, and especially the Romulan military, would be prepared for anything that might come along, and therefore did not need to be told. But if we had truly exercised logic, we would have realized that the same qualities which make them able to be prepared for anything, have given them the strength to be able to _handle_ anything as well. It was an error on our parts."

"Well…" I fumbled, "apology accepted, I suppose."

"Thank you, Captain."

I turned to go, but stopped. I looked back at Spock.

"Ambassador, I don't mean to engage in hero worship, but let's just say that I value your opinion greatly on most things. Can we win this war?" Spock steepled his fingers and stared into one of the nearer candles for a long moment.

"No," he said. "But we might survive."


	21. Death Knell

**Chapter Twenty-One**

The _Titan_ offered a noticeably smoother ride than Admiral Shailin's ship had, and I was grateful for it. Although it was nowhere near the size of the _Dreadnought_-class ship I had seen before, it certainly looked as if it might give the _Ascension _a run for its money. I found it easy to lose myself in the narrow hallways as I left my quarters.

It was actually somewhat disappointing that I couldn't take more time to enjoy everything around me. After all, I was on a starship with several of my heroes and, just as it had been on the _Enterprise_, I found that I had neither the time nor the heart to celebrate. I hadn't even had a chance to sit down and just get to know them under any normal sort of circumstance.

Granted, I felt like at the moment I knew Picard better than I ever had over the years that I had seen him on television. And admittedly, a big part of that was because I had actually faced danger with him; had actually fought beside him. Still, there was a feeling that something was missing. It made me wonder how long it took them to actually get to know one another very well during the time that they had served together. I knew, of course, that not all of their time on the _Enterprise_ had been spent saving the universe. Nonetheless, it gave me pause for thought. I made a promise to myself as I got into the turbolift that, should we all survive this war, I would make it a priority to get to know my crew as well as these people seemed to know each other.

The turbolift took me to the bridge, where hasty repairs were being made on several of the stations. Captain Riker was overseeing most of this, moving from one damaged panel to another and inspecting the work with the eye of a trained professional. Picard sat in the First Officer's chair (which he had graciously accepted for the duration of our stay on _Titan_), and to the right of the captain's chair sat Deanna Troi, looking beautifully regal as she always had. She stood when she saw me, proffering her seat. I felt a blush creep up my collar.

"As you were," I said, feeling completely ridiculous. She obviously sensed the awkwardness, and she sat back down with a smile.

"Thank you, Captain."

"Ah, Captain Allen," Riker said, turning to me. "I'm glad you're here. We'll be rendezvousing with the _Ascension_ and the _Enterprise_ in three hours. I think that it's about time we contacted Starfleet with your concerns." He left the station he was at and headed for his Ready Room. Picard, Troi and I followed him. Once inside, we all sat down at a table.

"Who exactly are we going to talk to about this?" I asked. Picard spoke up.

"We will begin with Admiral Necheyev," he said. "I believe that she will have the most sway with the Federation Council."

"I assume you both have your reports prepared," Riker said. We both nodded. "Good. Let's get this over with. Computer, open a secure transmission to Admiral Necheyev, Priority One."

"Channel open," the computer chimed. Admiral Necheyev, who looked a little worse for the wear these days, came on the screen.

"Captain Riker," she said. "It's good to see you. I've already received your report on Romulus, and I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid we just can't spare you at the moment."

"Understood, Admiral. We're already back in Federation space. I've contacted you for a different reason." He backed the screen up to display the rest of us at the table.

"Captain Picard!" Necheyev blurted, clearly pleased. "I was told that you had been lost in the battle of Vulcan."

"Not quite, Admiral. Good to see you again."

"Tell me, Jean-Luc, where _have_ you been for past several days?" I wanted to yell _I'm here too, Admiral!_ But I kept silent as Picard began to explain what had happened over the past few days. The lines in Admiral Necheyev's face deepened as he explained everything that we had seen. She seemed particularly interested in the part about Valeris, and Spock's previous involvement with her. At the end, the admiral heaved a long sigh.

"Well, captains, this is not a good situation at all. If Admiral Heaton is in on the plot with the Bek'Tal – and it sounds like he is – then we've got a very big and powerful starship to worry about, in addition to the Borg situation. As if we didn't have enough with them!"

"Admiral, what exactly _is_ the current situation with the Borg?" Riker asked. Necheyev paused for a moment, as if gathering the strength to give the bad news.

"It's much worse than even our worst projections, gentlemen. Long-range scanners have picked up the signatures of over four thousand separate cubes. And those are just the ones that we've been able to detect thus far." There was a deathly silence, during which she allowed us to process what she had just said. Then she continued.

"From what we can tell, these ships have begun linking themselves together. We're not entirely certain how they're doing it, but they seem to be forming a kind of giant sphere in space."

"A sphere?" I asked, finally piping up. "Why would they do that?"

"We don't know," Necheyev said. "Perhaps it has something to do with this Omega particle plot you've been describing. All we know is that even if all they have are the ships we've counted thus far, the result of this interlocking will be a planet-sized ship of almost unimaginable firepower. We've been working around the clock trying to come up with something that might give us a chance against it, but so far the situation has only gotten worse. At this point, they've begun discussing evacuation procedures."

"You're going to evacuate the entire planet?" I said. Necheyev's face darkened.

"No. We will only be able to take a handful of people with us. Even then, we have nowhere to go where they can't find us."

Again there was silence. I felt my heart drop to the pit of my stomach in a slow, nauseating moment. I wanted to vomit, cry, and run away from the room all at the same time. These were followed by a surge of frustrated rage, which I had to fight to keep from showing in my face. I hated the Borg now. I had feared them before, and I still did. But as Necheyev's words repeated themselves in a haunting inner monologue, I found a loathing for the Borg that I had never before known. I clenched my fists until sweat nearly poured from them.

"Admiral," Riker said, "if all of these Borg ships are interlocking to form one, wouldn't it be possible to use that against them?"

"We've been working on that," she said tiredly. "So far none of our simulations has shown much promise. The Borg defenses are too strong. Even our entire fleet would barely put a dent in it," she said. Picard folded his hands on the desk and leaned forward.

"What you're describing, however, is an external attack only. What if we could get something or someone _inside_ the sphere?"

"We've thought of that too, Jean-Luc. First there would be the task of getting inside - no small feat in and of itself - and then we would still face the daunting chore of trying to destroy it. I think that you are looking at this as one massive ship with some sort of giant power core you can destroy. Our scans indicate it's not like that at all. This is a network of ships, each operating on its own power. And let us bear in mind that even if we destroy a thousand ships, we still have only taken out half of their fleet. I think that it is time for us to come to terms with the fact that this situation is hopeless. We will fight for our planet, to be sure. But we will lose."

There was a very sad moment in which she looked at all three of us. Decades of duty were clearly the only thing holding back the tears in her eyes, which glistened very slightly on the monitor.

"I hope that when the time comes for us to sacrifice ourselves, we will bear ourselves with the same sense of honor which we always have. Necheyev out."

The screen went blank. No one moved for several long moments. Then Picard drew in a large breath, which I anticipated was going to turn into a sigh. Surprisingly, however, he stood from the table and exhaled the breath into a short - but stirring - sentence.

"Let's find a way to beat these bastards."


	22. As If On

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

"Logically speaking," said Spock, "the best course of action at this point would be to evacuate the sector and seek whatever temporary shelter or shelters we could find." He glanced around the table. "Of course, logic is not the end of all things."

"We've collected every report on the Borg since their discovery – classified and otherwise – and still we can't find anything that will help us here," said Riker in irritation. "The closest thing we've got is a very highly classified report from Admiral Janeway. Apparently she picked up some knowledge of anti-Borg weaponry from the future. Until recently, it was under heavy classification due to the Temporal Prime Directive."

"In light of our current situation," said Picard, "I don't think that we have to worry about any visits from the Bureau of Temporal Investigations. After all, if the Borg win, they won't even be there to do anything about it."

"That worries me," I said. Everyone looked at me. "Well, if they aren't trying to stop us now, doesn't that tend to indicate that they _already_ don't exist in the future?" No one answered for a moment.

"I don't think we're getting anywhere with this," Deanna said matter-of-factly. "Will, what did the report say?"

"Not much. The then Captain Janeway was able to modify her ships with ablative armor, which has somehow slipped through the cracks of Federation security, since all of our ships have been modified to include it. But _Voyager_ was also outfitted with what were called transphasic torpedoes."

"Transphasic?" said Picard.

"The torpedo emits a high-intensity field around it, causing a constant random phase-shift. It was very effective because the Borg could not match their shield frequencies to compensate for it."

"What if that same idea were applied to quantum and quasar torpedoes?" I asked. They're a lot more powerful than a standard photon torpedo; they could do a lot more damage."

"Maybe," Riker said. There are only two problems with that. One is that the Borg have had time to analyze the weapons since Admiral Janeway last encountered them. The other is, of course, the sheer scope of what we're dealing with."

"Agreed," said Picard. "But it's a start at least. Can we get this information to the fleet in time?"

"Yes, that's no problem. The problem will be getting the clearance to use it. I spoke with Admiral Janeway this morning, and she said that the ablative armor was leaked because it was an entirely defensive technology. The transphasic torpedoes, on the other hand, are entirely offensive. The fear is that if they fell into the wrong hands, we might have more problems than just the Borg."

"It's a little late to be worrying about that, Will," said Picard.

"I know. Admiral Janeway said that she would be willing to give the information to the fleet, but that she would wait until the last possible moment to minimize the risk."

Picard rolled his eyes. "Bureaucratic nonsense," he muttered.

"What other possible options do we have at the moment?" Deanna asked. "I mean, how do you destroy something the size of a planet? Especially when that something is fighting back with unimaginable firepower?"

"Do you think," I asked, "that once they're all joined together, there will be some sort of weak spot? A joined reactor core maybe?"

"I doubt it," Picard said. "Knowing the Borg, each cube will act independently, while keeping its order through the hive mind. But it would be very helpful, possibly, to know what will be in the center of this sphere."

"It is logical to assume that the delivery agent for the Omega device will be housed there," said Spock. "I think that we may need to consider the possibility of using that to destroy them."

"Indeed," said Picard. "But if that device works on anywhere near the scale we think it does, we may destroy the entire sector with it."

"That might be a risk we have to take," said Riker. "But even if it could work, how the hell would we get inside there to destroy it?" No one answered. "The Borg know our strategies almost as well as we do. They'll be expecting us to attack there."

"I think that we're still overlooking something very significant here. There's a piece of the puzzle missing," said Picard.

"Several, _mon capitaine,_" said a voice from the far end of the table. We turned our faces toward a brilliant flash of light, coalescing and then dying out to reveal a human form.

"It would appear," he said, "that I have arrived as if on Q."


	23. A Moment Out of Time

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

"Q, what the _hell_ are you doing here?" thundered Picard.

"Ah, Picard," said Q, "I'm always so delighted by the warm welcome you give me when I visit. Tell me, how are things?"

"Captain?" asked Spock to Picard. "Am I to presume that this is the very same Q mentioned in various logs during your tour aboard the _Enterprise D_?"

"The very same," said Q with a grin. He walked over to Picard very deliberately and flung an arm over his shoulder. "Jean-Luc and I are old pals."

"Q has visited us on a number of occasions, Ambassador, and he usually brings trouble with him. Speaking of which," he looked up at Q and forcibly removed the hand from his shoulder, "are you responsible for this mess?" Q put a mortified hand to his heart.

"You wound me, _mon capitaine_. After all we've been through together! After all the times I've saved your life! Yet you insist on thinking of me as the villain. _Me!_ Poor little Q. Really, I don't know why I come back sometimes."

"Q, what business do you have on my ship?" asked Riker, suddenly standing impatiently.

"Ah, Riker. The little Q who couldn't; I see that you finally cut yourself loose from Picard's apron strings and got yourself a ship to command. That must make you very proud."

"Q," said Picard tiredly, "if you have something to add to this conversation, please do so. We haven't time for bantering around with you."

"Oh, that's right!" said Q. "You're about to all be killed by the Borg, I nearly forgot. Very well, since I enjoy our banter so much…" he said, then snapped his fingers. Suddenly, the room became very quiet; the ship's engines were no longer audible. Outside, the stars remained in fixed streaks, not moving. "There, is that better? I've paused time for the moment," said Q.

"All right," said Picard. "We're listening." Q smiled and stood, taking his time to pace around the table. Then he stared out the window at the stars for a long moment. "Picard, do you remember that little test I gave you a few years back? You know; the one with the paltry little temporal issue?"

"Quite well, Q. It was one of the many times you nearly destroyed us."

"Yes, we parted on such wonderful terms. Do you remember what I told you?"

"Not exactly, no," said Picard. Q turned, raising an eyebrow. I spoke up.

"You said that you would be watching."

"Very good, Captain Allen. Oh, and spare me the look of shock." He pointed to himself. "Omniscient, remember?"

"If you are omniscient," said Spock, "then perhaps you can tell us the outcome of the battle with the Borg." Q laughed.

"My Vulcan friend, where would the fun be in that? Honestly, do you want me to hold your hand?"

"Actually," said Deanna. "That might be nice for once." Q leaned over the table, placing his palms flat on it. He looked into Deanna's eyes.

"My dear, I would love nothing more. But you _are _a married woman, after all. Besides," he said, straightening his uniform and grinning impishly at Riker, "there's a difference between knowing the future and knowing the future of existence. Cryptic as that may sound, believe me; it's meant to be. But back to you, Picard. Yes, I told you that we would be watching, and we have."

"And what is your opinion of humanity now?" Picard asked. Q shrugged.

"We don't really see much improvement. But then, you humans do improve so very slowly, and in such small amounts. For all we know, it might seem like a great deal to you." He leaned back against the bulkhead, folding his arms. By this time, Picard was clearly irritated.

"Q, I don't see the point of all this."

"Of course you don't. It's a lot for a mere mortal to comprehend. But let me see if I can clarify it for you a little. Did you ever wonder, Jean-Luc, why the Q have taken such an interest in humanity? Or the Borg for that matter?"

"We know why the Borg are interested in us now, yes," said Picard. "But I've been wondering for years why _you're_ interested in us, Q."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Q said. "The fact is, Jean-Luc, you have no idea how much of the puzzle is missing. What the Borg are about to do is far worse than just destroy humanity."

"Certainly," Picard agreed. "With the power of Omega behind them, they will be even more unstoppable than they already have been."

"And what do you know about this Omega?" Q asked. "What do you _really_ know?" Riker answered.

"We know that it is a nearly unstoppable source of energy when stabilized. When it's unstable, it's one of the most deadly compounds known to exist."

"Very close," Q replied. "But not quite right. It _is_ an unstoppable source of energy, and it _is_ the most deadly compound that exists. What you have simple-mindedly termed 'Omega' is, in fact, the most powerful thing in the universe."

"I thought you claimed that role," I said, trying to lighten the mood a little. Q looked at me for a long moment.

"Exactly."

There was silence. Then Spock drew a breath.

"Are we to understand, sir, that , trying to lighten the mood a little. Q looked at me for a long moment.

"Exactly."

There was silence. Then Spock drew a breath.

"Are we to understand, sir, that _you_ are Omega?" he asked. Q snorted.

"In a manner of speaking. We – that is, the Q Continuum – are Omega, and it is us.

"But Q," said Picard, "it's _just_ a compound! It's just matter. I thought you were so much more than that."

"We are," he said. "The pockets of Omega that have been found are Q in their most basic, infantile form."

"You mean they're your children?" Picard said, aghast.

"That's a very mortal way to look at it, but yes. In a sense, the unstable Omega particles are the Q's young."

"If that's the case," I said, "then you're telling us that if they succeed in stabilizing that much of it, they will have the power of the Q at their fingertips." Q smiled.

"Ah, it begins to dawn on them. I do so enjoy watching you ape-like beings figure things out. Too bad it takes so long. Yes, they will have the power of the Q. What's more, they will use that power in the most terrible fashion imaginable."

"Assimilating the entire galaxy," Picard breathed.

"Bigger," said Q.

"The universe," Spock said.

"Bigger."

"What's bigger than that?" Deanna asked.

"That's what you have to figure out," said Q. "I'm not going to do your math homework for you, children."

"Q," said Picard, with a much more reasonable tone in his voice. "If the Borg gain the powers of the Q, they'll threaten even _your_ existence. Can you really just stand by and let us mere mortals decide your fate?" Q let out a sigh.

"I do see your point, Jean-Luc. But surely you must see mine by now. Don't you think there's a reason I've been dogging your tracks for all these years? I assure you, _mon capitaine_, it wasn't for the company." He paused, grinning. "Well, not _entirely_ for the company."

With that, he disappeared in a flash of light, and we were returned to normal time.


	24. To Be Or Not To Be

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

The transporter effect dissolved, and a lone figure rushed toward me from the control bank.

"Jerry!" I said, offering a handshake but taking a brief hug.

"Good to have you back, man…uh, Captain," he corrected himself, staring with embarrassment at the rest of my team. "By the way, no one knows you're here. As far as the crew is concerned at the moment, we just came to rendezvous with the _Titan_ for information exchange."

"That's good, although I think it's time to fix that. Let's get to the bridge," I said. "We've got a lot of ground to cover in a short time."

On the way to the turbolift, I paraphrased what had transpired in the last few days, focusing primarily on the key points of Valeris, Admiral Heaton, and Q. When I was done, Jerry whistled.

"And I thought _we'd_ been busy. Since you've been gone, we've been primarily running perimeter checks for the Romulan border. The Borg fleet hasn't advanced, so we've been relaying messages back and forth with the Empire."

"That doesn't sound like a very stimulating job," I commented as we entered the turbolift. "Bridge."

"It's not, but we requested the duty, since it meant we'd be the first to know if there was any word from you guys."

"Thanks fer that, Commander," Tex said. He was looking much better, thanks to Doctor Phlox's superb care.

"Yes, Jerry. We're certainly relieved to be back."

"As am I."

The turbolift doors swooshed open, and I stepped once again onto the bridge of my ship. I couldn't help but smile at the astonished gasps around me.

"Reports of my death are mildly exaggerated," I said, moving toward my chair. I sat down, feeling the warm padding beneath me. I realized that it was the most comfortable seat I'd had for days. "Helm, lay in a course for the fleet. Maximum warp."

"Aye aye, Captain."

I looked around for Julie. I had been fixating on this moment for days now, but she was nowhere on the bridge.

"Commander," I said quietly to Jerry, "where is Lieutenant Brock?" I couldn't be sure, but I almost thought I heard a polite snicker somewhere behind me. I decided to let it go.

"I believe she's in her quarters, Captain. She's not on duty for another hour or so."

"I see. And how long before we reach the fleet?"

"Best speed will get us there in six hours," Jerry said.

"All right. Commander, I want a staff meeting in my Ready Room in half an hour."

"Is that going to be long enough?" Jerry asked, an expressionless grin dancing across his eyes.

"Very funny. Just see to it."

"Aye, Captain."

* * *

As I stood outside the door to her quarters, I could barely hear the thrumming of _Ascension's_ engines over the sound of my own rapid heartbeat. I had given up thinking that I was being ridiculous; I figured at this point that life was too short to be bothered by nagging doubts about my almost sophomoric approach to the romantic euphoria I felt around Julie.

Yet for a moment, I could not bring myself to reach out and touch the buzzer to her door. Several times I reached for it, but held back. A thought popped into my head at that moment: _to be or not to be._

_To be,_ I decided, boldly reaching out and pressing the button.

An eternal silence. Nothing. It had taken nearly all the courage I had just to ring once. Frustrated, I reached out again…

"Come in," came her voice over the speaker.

I tried to collect myself, even as my palpitating heart became one with my spleen. I took a tentative step forward, and the doors to her quarters opened in response. Her room was dark, and at first I could only see the rectangle of carpet lighted by the door, my shadow looking far braver than I in the midst of it. A shadow passed over the blur of stars at the window, and as it came my way her features revealed themselves.

"Julie," I said, almost in a whisper. I could see her now; she wore pajamas from our time. Her hair was a mess, and it looked as if I had awakened her. She had never looked so beautiful.

"Mike!" She nearly shouted it, and suddenly rushed forward across the remaining distance between us, flinging herself into my arms. She tried to speak, but she was taken by a paroxysm of choked sobs, which afforded her little breath to say anything.

"I…thought…you…were…"

"I'm not," I said, placing my arms around her. I let her cry, enveloping her and resting my chin on the top of her head. I felt very suddenly as if time itself had stopped – frozen a moment that we could share. And in that moment, I too felt tears slip down my cheeks, splashing silently among the golden tresses of her hair. Her head moved slightly, as though she were trying to bury herself in my chest. Perhaps it was a shallow moment, but I didn't care. As far as I was concerned, I could spend the rest of my life holding her.

But that was not to be. She finally regained herself a little, and looked up at me.

"I was so worried about you," she said.

"I'm sorry," I replied, unashamed that my voice trembled. "I was worried about you, too."

"No," she said. "You don't understand." She pulled gently away, turning toward the window. "I didn't want the last thing we said to each other…" she broke off.

"I understand," I said. "But you were right to say what you did. I didn't hold it against you."

"No, Mike," she whispered. "I wasn't. And I've had a few days of hell to realize it." I drew my arms around her from behind, leaning over to kiss her cheek.

"And now that I'm back?" I asked softly. To my surprise, she giggled a little through her tears, turning to face me again.

"You're stuck with me, Captain sir." And she kissed me. For a moment we lingered, staring into each other's eyes. Then she took my hand and led me to a small sofa by the window. I sat down, and she curled up next to me, nestling in the crook of my arm.

"What now?" I asked, smiling out at the stars in front of us.

"Just hold me for a little while," she whispered.


	25. The Byzantium

**PART THREE**

**THE PERFECTION**

**Prologue**

People tend to look at the future as an unwritten book. At least, that's how I had always looked at it. To me the future was intangible, something to not spend too much time worrying about. I had made some plans for the future, of course – who wants to spend the rest of their life working in a clothing store? After college I had wanted to travel around the world and, as the incredibly popular and frequently misguided mantra goes, find myself. Then I had imagined I would settle down, perhaps find a wife and raise a family. Nothing too spectacular or even difficult about a dream like that; it happens all the time in the movies.

But something about having my wildest fantasies come true within a period of atom-scrambling seconds had put the future in a new, much darker perspective. Every day now I had to live with the thought that everything I knew and loved might soon come to a crashing end. In some ways, when the final battle came at last, it was something of a relief. At least then there was no more waiting. No more anticipation of the closing darkness, because the darkness was there.

And while the relief was very temporary – the tragedy took care of that – the events I was about to witness extended well beyond the reach of anything I could have ever dreamed. The cost of seeing them was enormous, but I know that I would have done it all over again, given the chance.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

The staff meeting had been arduous, but informative. Among other important items brought up at the table, I had been informed that while the warp engines were operating at peak efficiency, it was my duty as captain to inspect Main Engineering before the onset of the next battle. Lieutenant Commander Demansky seemed to be the most cheerful person aboard the ship, and he chattered happily as we rode the turbolift.

"I think you'll be very pleased with the modifications we've made, sir," he said. "We've bypassed some of the secondary EPS taps in order to create a twelve percent increase in warp power."

"Where are these draining power from?" I asked, mostly just to keep the conversation two-sided, but partly because I felt it was my duty to know more about what made my ship tick. Demansky glanced away briefly.

"Well, sir, we've powered down the ship's arboretum, and I believe that the holodecks on decks fifteen and sixteen have been taken offline. Other than that, I don't think anything has been really affected."

"I want you to make sure of that," I said. "I'd hate to find out at the wrong moment that something important doesn't work right just so that we can move a little faster at warp. Get me a report within the hour."

"Aye, sir," Demansky said, seemingly elated at the opportunity to do more work. The turbolift doors opened, and we stepped into the main level of Engineering. I wasn't sure what I was looking for in my inspection, but fortunately Demansky seemed to have been through this sort of thing before, and he led me through it very quickly.

"As you can see here, sir," he said, pointing to one of the consoles, "all our systems are functioning at above-normal levels. Also, I have something very interesting I'd like you to take a look at." He brought up a display of the warp core. "I read a most stimulating report by Captain Picard about the effect of warp core coolant on the Borg. In the event of an emergency, I have set up a command function which will automatically trigger a coolant leak. If necessary, it can be pumped very quickly throughout the ventilation shafts to any point on the ship."

"Interesting," I said.

"Very. Since it's very dangerous, I've encoded it to only respond to senior commanding officers. Only you, Commander Foster and myself have the authority to engage it. Also, just to be safe, I have made sure that coolant production for the core itself will be tripled at the moment the command is given. That way we can still keep the core from overheating."

"Understood. Good work, Mr. Demansky."

"Thank you sir," he said, beaming.

"Well," I said, casting a look around Engineering, "it appears that the _Ascension_ is in very good hands. Unless you have anything further, I have a trip to make to Sickbay."

"No sir, that about covers it."

I turned to leave, making my way back to the turbolift.

"Oh, sir," said Demansky behind me. I turned.

"Yes?"

"Do try to take care of her for me."

* * *

My checkup took very little time. Aside from being a little banged up over the past few days, it appeared that I was in perfect health. As a matter of fact, I felt physically better than I ever had before. I imagined that a good part of that was the fantastic medical conditions that the twenty-fourth century provided.

Doctor Sarin was a middle-aged Vulcan with impressive credentials. He had served aboard twelve separate Starfleet vessels in his ninety-year career, and had been chief medical officer for ten of them. He waved the medical tricorder over me several times, staring at it with the expert precision befitting both his station and his heritage.

"I believe you are completely fit for duty, sir," he said. "My only concern is a slight decrease in your metabolic rate. This is probably caused by the stress you have encountered over the past few weeks. I recommend you conform to a daily regemin of alternating rest and exercise. If you would like, I can provide you with some holodeck programs which will expedite this process."

"Thank you," I said, "but I suspect I'll be getting a fair amount of exercise in the next few days. Maybe if we all survive this I'll come back and see you about that."

"Understood, sir," Sarin said with a nod. "In that case, you are free to go."

"Thank you. By the way, Doctor," I said, looking around Sickbay, "I assume that you are ready in your own right for the next few days."

"If you mean the ensuing casualties, then yes. We are prepared to convert the entire Sickbay into a trauma ward if necessary. Additionally, we are setting up additonal biobeds in Cargo Bay Three, in case we are in need of extra space."

"Excellent," I said. "It sounds like we're about as ready as we're going to get." With that, I walked out the door into the hallway. Jerry was standing there, apparently waiting for me.

"What's the news?" I asked. Jerry looked a little pale.

"Admiral Heaton has signaled us, and we're to rendezvous with his ship near the front in less than an hour."

"Do you think he knows?" I asked, hoping it wasn't the case.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Jerry said. "It's highly unlikely that word hasn't gotten back to him about our escape."

"Damn," I said. "Well, there's nothing for it except to meet up with him. I'll get on the horn and inform Admiral Janeway; maybe she'll have some idea of how to handle this. In the mean time, I want you to be ready to act as captain at the rendezvous. He may know that we're alive, but he doesn't necessarily know that we're aboard this ship. I'd like to keep it that way as long as possible."

"You know," Jerry said, "if he suspects that you're here, he may scan the _Ascension_ for your life signs." I snapped my fingers.

"You're right," I said. "I wonder if it would be possible to mask them for the time being."

"I'll get on it," Jerry said. "The last thing we want at this point is for him to realize that you're here. We've got a lot going for us, but we're no match for that dreadnought ship of his."

"Understood. Find out if we can get it done quickly, and meet me in the Ready Room in fifteen minutes," I said. Jerry nodded, and walked away quickly.

* * *

"Honestly, Mike, I'm not sure there's much you can do," Janeway said. "I've been working for the past several hours on possible strategies, but even getting the Federation Council to take a look at this is just impossible at the moment. They're extremely preoccupied right now, and my concerns about a possible rogue admiral seem to be the least of their concerns."

"I understand, Admiral," I said with a frown.

"And I want to be clear on this; are we absolutely certain that Heaton is a traitor?"

"I only know what I saw, Admiral. Frankly, I'd have my doubts about it if it weren't for the fact that Captain Picard and Ambassador Spock feel so strongly about it."

"Yes, I understand. Both of them have something of a track record for sniffing out bad apples in the command line." She paused a moment, seemingly mulling over the possibilities.

"All right, Captain. For the moment, stick with your plan. Try to mask yourselves from detection if possible. The _Ascension_ is a big ship, so even if Heaton decides to board it, you should be able to find somewhere to hide. I wouldn't think that he would have time for a full-blown inspection, even if it would be necessary to cover up his dirty work."

"Admiral, I'm not just concerned about our ability to hide from him. I'm also worried about what he's going to do with that ship of his. The last thing we need at this point is a gigantic starship turning on us in the heat of battle."

"You raise a good point, Mike. I've been thinking about that myself. And I think I have a partial solution."

"What's that?" I asked.

"I think that it may be time for me to pay a visit to the _Byzantium._"

"I see," I said. "And how is that going to work out?"

"Admiral Heaton may know that you are on to him, but it's extremely unlikely that he knows about my involvement. I am taking command of _Voyager_ in less than two hours, and we're heading for the front. Your rendezvous with the _Byzantium_ is on the way. I will call for a meeting with Admiral Heaton aboard his ship and, if necessary, I will have him confined to the brig."

"What if he's not alone, Admiral?"

"I've thought of that, too," Janeway said. "Unfortunately, at the moment, it's our best shot. I've spent a lot of years having to think on my feet; maybe it'll pay off."

"I hope so," I said. "Good luck."

"Same to you, Mike. Janeway out."

The image of the Starfleet chevron appeared again, replacing that of Admiral Janeway. Almost immediately, the door chimed.

"Come in," I said. Jerry walked in and handed me a comm badge.

"Here, take yours off and put this one on." I did as I was told.

"That was quick," I said.

"You have Demansky to thank for that. As soon as I started mentioning the idea, I could smell smoke from the wheels turning. He gave me this in about ten minutes. I've distributed them to the others. It won't mask your biosigns, but you will each show up as someone from a different race than your own. For example, you will appear to be a Bolian."

"I see. Admiral Janeway seems to think that it's a good possibility he'll want to board the ship as well. If that happens, we're going to have to find somewhere to lay low."

"Honestly, Mike, if he shows up aboard this ship, I'm just gonna stun the bastard," Jerry said. I smiled.

"I appreciate the sentiment. But we may not have that option when the time comes. I don't want you to stun him, only to find out that the _Byzantium_ is full of people marching to the same drum as Heaton. We'll keep it as an option, but I want as many different plans as we can muster. Any idea what would be the best place to hide on the ship?"

* * *

"We have visual, Cap'n," said Tex.

"On screen," I replied. The viewscreen shimmered on, and ahead we could see the behemoth that was the _Byzantium_. "Weapons status?" I said. Julie glanced down at the monitor of her station, then back up at me. Her face betrayed very little emotion, but I could tell that she wasn't happy with what she was seeing.

"Their weapons are not powered up at the moment," she said, "but I'm having difficulty getting a good reading from the passive scan. There's something on that ship producing a large amount of energy, and I can't make any sense of it."

"If we up the scan level, he'll know something's up," Jerry said.

"Agreed. Don't raise the shields just yet, but keep your finger on the button," I said to Weston. She nodded from her console.

"Aye, sir." There was a beep from her console. "They're hailing us, Captain."

I stepped to the far side of the bridge, and nodded to Jerry."

"On screen," he said. Admiral Heaton's face came into view.

"Commander Foster," he said. "It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, sir," Jerry said diplomatically. "If I may ask, why are we meeting out here? Shouldn't we be on our way to the front?"

"Yes, and we will shortly. There's just a small matter that needs clearing up. I want to know if you have had any contact from Captain Allen."

"Not since Vulcan, sir." Jerry acted his part well. He seemed to grow suddenly full of hope. "Why, have you had any update from them, sir? Are they alive?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that at present." He turned and spoke to someone offscreen, then glared back at Jerry. "You know," he said, "one of the distinct advantages of having actually lived in this timeframe is that you have more context with which to think outside the box. For example, Commander, I happen to know that you are lying, and that in fact you have your intrepid captain aboard your ship." Jerry's face went white.

"I don't know what you mean, sir," he stammered. On the screen, someone stepped into the picture next to Heaton.

"Allow me to introduce you to Lieutenant Commander Burel." The man looked gazed at Jerry, then nodded to Heaton.

"I don't understand," Jerry said, floundering by this point.

"Then allow me to clarify," Heaton said. "He is one of my finest officers, and has been serving me for several years now. And, as you might have guessed were you truly a competent commander, he is Betazoid.


	26. Speeches

**Chapter-Twenty Six**

Jerry looked at the screen, his face a fixture of horror.

"Stand down, Commander, and prepare to be boarded," Heaton said. "I will be taking Captain Allen and his group into custody, and Captain Harker will be taking command of the _Ascension_."

Jerry took a step back and slowly sat down in the captain's chair. He drummed his fingers on the armrest for a moment, never looking in my direction. Finally, he looked back up to the viewscreen.

"Admiral, I'm afraid that I'm going to have to deny your request to board my ship," he said very calmly. Heaton's face lit up with rage.

"It wasn't a request, Commander!" he bellowed. Jerry smiled congenially.

"Then I'm going to have to wish you a pleasant trip straight to hell." With that he cut the transmission.

"Raise shields!" I said.

"Captain, he's powering up…whatever that thing he's got on his ship is," said Julie.

"Evasive maneuvers," I said, moving to take my place in the captain's chair. "Course bearing five-zero mark two. Weston, what are the chances we can outrun that thing?"

"Not great, Captain. Her warp capabilities are essentially the same as ours."

"Great. Power up phasers, but don't fire until he does."

At that moment, the ship was rocked as a green lance of energy shot across space at us. Half the bridge crew toppled over, myself included.

"What the hell was that?!" I demanded.

"Captain," Weston said, "that was a Borg weapon.

"Ah sure am gettin' tired of surprises!" Tex said, dragging himself back into his seat.

"That makes two of us," I agreed. "Return fire. Quantum torpedoes, full spread."

"Aye, Cap'n." Tex punched the console, and five brilliant-white points of light shot out toward the _Byzantium_. Heaton had apparently anticipated our move, and only two torpedoes struck home.

"Damage?" I said.

"They were good hits," Julie said. "But not good enough so far. Our shields are down to seventy-three percent."

"With one hit," I muttered. "Continue evasive maneuvers. Weston, don't let them breathe. Fire phasers."

"Aye, sir." The reddish glow of phaser fire displayed on the viewscreen, raking across the _Byzantium's_ shields.

"Cap'n, they're firin' again…"

It felt as if the entire ship had been thrown on its side. Jerry's body slammed into mine, and we both toppled over the chair and into the deck. Jerry was the first to get up, and he turned to Julie.

"Shield status?!" he barked.

"It's too powerful for us, Commander," she said. Nearby, one of the consoles exploded into a shower of sparks, and smoke began pouring onto the bridge. "Shields are down to thirty percent!"

"Captain!" said Weston. "There's another ship coming into range. It's _Voyager_, sir."

"Thank God," I said, silently amazed that she had been able to get here so quickly. "Return fire again, Weston. Phasers. Try to disable…"

"We've lost phasers, sir," she said. "That last hit took out our weapons."

"Shit!" I swore. "Johnstone, emergency warp. Engage."

"Aye, Captain." In an instant, the stars on the viewscreen distorted and turned into fast-moving lines.

"The _Byzantium_ is pursuing, Captain," said Julie.

"That's fine. Hopefully at this speed that weapon of theirs won't work very well."

"Sir," said Weston, "Admiral Janeway is aboard _Voyager_. She's hailing us."

"On screen."

Admiral Janeway filled the screen, and the concern on her face was palpable.

"Hang on, Captain, we're on our way."

"Admiral," I said, "he's got more than just Starfleet weaponry on that thing. He's got Borg technology."

"I was counting on that," she said with a smile. "Just be prepared to drop out of warp and fire at him."

"Admiral, we've lost phasers," I said. Janeway frowned.

"Torpedoes?" she asked. I looked at Weston. She nodded.

"Yes, Admiral, we have those."

"Good. That will have to work."

"Thank you very much," I said.

"Least I can do for one of my star pupils," she said. "Janeway out." She vanished from the screen. I turned to Weston.

"How long until _Voyager_ intercepts?"

"Three minutes, sir," she said. At that moment we were rocked again by another blast from the _Byzantium_, but this time it was not nearly as powerful.

"Report," I said.

"Shields holding at twenty-eight percent," Julie said. "He doesn't have the same accuracy at warp speed."

"Good, then let's keep that up until Janeway pulls whatever stunt she's got up her sleeve. Allen to Engineering."

"Demansky here, Captain," came the voice of the Engineer.

"How are we doing down there?" I asked.

"Well, it isn't pretty, sir. We're blowing relays like it's the damned Fourth of July down here!"

"Can you keep the ship together for a little bit longer?" I half-pleaded.

"I think so. But you'd better get a handle on whatever it is that's firing at us. That thing is packing one hell of a punch."

"I intend to, Demansky. Allen out."

"Sir," said Weston, "we've got a change in the visual on _Voyager_. Something is…happening to it, sir." I was horrified. What could this mean?

"On screen," I said. My horror turned to instant relief as I saw _exactly_ what it meant. _Voyager_ was deploying its ablative hull plating. In seconds, it looked like a giant metal shell, hurling through space at its target.

"They're coming into weapons range," said Weston.

"Bring us out of warp, and come about hard to port," I said. We dropped out of warp, and moments later we could see the huge hulk of the _Byzantium_ bearing down on us. In an instant, _Voyager_ shot across the screen, firing volley after volley of torpedoes and phasers at the _Byzantium_. Every single torpedo hit its mark.

"Sir," Weston said, "the _Byzantium _has sustained heavy damage. They're preparing to return fire."

"Keep it going," I said. "Fire torpedoes."

The green energy beam shot out from the _Byzantium_, slamming itself into _Voyager_.

"What's _Voyager's_ status?" I said. Julie looked at her console.

"Barely any damage at all," she said.

"Fantastic. Keep firing at those bastards. Try to disable them as quickly…"

"Captain," said Weston in alarm, "the _Byzantium _ is moving off."

In a second, the space in front of the massive ship distorted, and the _Byzantium_ shot forward and disappeared. We all looked on, agape.

"What the hell was that?" I asked.

"Transwarp conduit, sir," said Weston. "_Voyager_ is hailing, sir."

"On screen."

"Captain, they're heading for the front. We'll never catch them, but we need to get there as quickly as we can."

"Agreed, Admiral," I said.

"We're feeding you the latest updates on the coordinates of the front. I think you'll find the news somewhat distressing."

I looked at one of the nearby consoles, and nearly choked.

"They've moved the sphere!" I said. "They're only a few light years from Earth!"

"Yes. The sphere opened a massive transwarp conduit and travelled almost an eighth of the quadrant in a matter of minutes. It seems that they've planned this all along, since most of the fleet is just now catching up to them."

"But this means that they'll reach Earth in a matter of hours," I said, horrified.

"I wish we had that much time," she said. "Captain, Earth is already under attack."

* * *

"How many?" Spock asked. I looked around the conference table, hating what I was about to say.

"The best estimate at the moment is that there are twenty thousand drones on the ground. For some of us, this will actually be our first destination, since Starfleet needs as many ground troops as it can get facing them."

Faces around the table were grim, even Spock's.

"I presume, then, that the _Ascension_ will be fighting in space?" he said. I nodded.

"This ship will be joining the defense perimeter, trying to hold Borg reinforcements back. We're fighting a losing battle, people, but we're going to give them everything we've got."

"What about the situation with Q," Jerry asked. "Do you really think that he's going to let Earth be destroyed?"

"I don't know," I said hopelessly. "I would love to say no, but I don't think it's safe to assume that. For all we know, his appearance might have been just to give humanity a mocking farewell."

"Still," Spock said, "that was not the intention he conveyed in our meeting. It seemed that, if nothing else, he wished to keep Omega out of the hands of the Borg."

"Yes," I agreed, "and that's what puzzles me the most. It seems to me that if Q really wanted to stop all of this, he'd just wave his hand and do it."

"There are two possibilities," Spock said. "He is unable to do that, or he is unwilling to." Despite the stress of the situation, I couldn't help the smile that crept onto my face. Some things never changed.

"Agreed," I said. "In the mean time, I don't think that we can count on his help in the upcoming battle. So, here's the situation. Per Admiral Janeway's orders, I will be beaming down to Earth to join the shock troop regiment. I'm taking Weston, Newman, Brock and Foster with me. Additionally, we'll be taking everyone not on this shift with us. Weston, you will be in command of the _Ascension_ while I'm gone, and you'll be working with Beta shift only."

"Aye, Captain," she said. Then, with a warmth I had not seen in her since I met her, she added, "I'll keep her together for you, sir."

"I would greatly appreciate that," I replied. Perhaps there was hope for our working relationship, after all. "Those of you who will be joining me, report to Transporter Room Three in thirty minutes. We'll be suiting up with the new anti-assimilation units. Additionally, we'll all be receiving a complimentary shotgun and bat'leth."

"Hell, yeah!" Tex said, grinning.

"Those of you remaining aboard the _Ascension_," I continued, "I am expecting a lot out of you. It is my intention to return to the ship as quickly as I can, with all of my people in tow. You all know what to do, so I won't waste your time."

As I spoke, I felt the tears begin to well up. I had been standing, but I suddenly felt very weak, and sat down. I sighed, rubbing my temples, and looked up at my crew with bleary eyes.

"People," I said, "this very well may be the last time that we are able to be together. I'm not going to tell you that I'm not scared, even if it is my job to be confident. Frankly, I'm terrified. And I know that every one of you is, too. Unless something amazing presents itself, we're probably all going to die today. End of story. Every single one of you has a story that may never be told. Without some kind of miracle, this ends up being a very sad story. I don't know what to say to calm you, since I can't even calm myself. All that I can say is that we have a duty to perform, and that I have complete confidence in your abilities. I know it sounds cliché, but it's the truth. We may die today, but we will die having done our damndest, and that's something to be proud of.

"You know," I said, rising again and beginning to pace around the table, "there's a lot of diversity sitting at this table." I looked at Weston, and noticed that her attention was completely set on my words. "Some of us came from nothing. I used to spend every week day taking people's measurements and trying to sell them expensive clothing. Not very glorious, is it?" By this point, I realized that I was mostly speaking for my own benefit. I didn't want to go where we were going, and I was speaking mostly to calm myself. "I certainly never imagined myself as the captain of a starship going into a battle where the odds were so stacked in the enemy's favor. But none of that matters, because it's where I am. And it's where you all are. This is it, people. This is where the line is drawn, and we have to stand up and say that humanity is worth saving. That we have the _right_ to wake up in the morning and decide our own fates. That we will not be taken from our way of life and destroyed by some faceless, emotionless evil.

"Honestly," I said, feeling the emotion well up continually as I spoke, "that's why we can win this battle. That's why we can beat the Borg. We care. We want to wake up tomorrow and pursue the adventure that is our lives. I'm tired of these sons of bitches and their relentless quest for 'perfection'! We do pretty damn well searching for it at our own pace, and who the hell are they to tell us how to accomplish it?! I want each and every one of you to consider that. And at the end of the day, I don't want to just beat the Borg back. I want to crush them into oblivion. I want them to feel, in those last moments, the grip of terror that they've inflicted on so many races for so long. I want to destroy them, people, and I want us to be the ones that do it. Will you help me do this?"

There was no round of applause, no stirring movie music to indicate the climactic end of my speech. There was only the nod of heads around the table. But it was enough. I dismissed the meeting, and one by one everyone filed out of the room. Except Weston.

"Captain," she said, "permission to speak freely?"

"Of course," I said. "What's on your mind?"

"First of all, I want you to know that I meant what I said. I _will_ keep this ship together while you're gone." She paused for a moment, and it seemed that she was having difficulty coming up with the words for what she wanted to say. "And second, I think that I owe you an apolgy. When you came aboard, I thought you were just some stupid young flunkie from a backwater time, who had no idea of what the realities of command were. I was envious, to be frank. I thought that Starfleet had made a terrible decision, hiring a bunch of idiots to do a job that they could never live up to. I realize now that I was mistaken, and I was wondering if we might start fresh." She looked down at the deck as she said this last part, and I smiled, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"When I first came here," I said, "I _was_ a stupid flunkie from a backwater time. Whether or not that has changed in the last couple of months remains to be seen. But I feel like it has. In fact, I feel like a completely different person than I was then. I don't know much about command, but if I were going to guess, I'd say that it's people like you who make good commanders out of people like me. People who are willing to stand up and tell me when I'm being an idiot. I accept your request, and I hope that we get the opportunity to explore our mutual qualities in the future."

"Thank you, sir," Weston said.

* * *

In my quarters, I struggled with the anti-assimilation suit, trying to get it apart so that I could put it on. The chime to my door sounded.

"Come in," I said. The doors opened, and Julie entered.

"Hi," she said simply. I smiled.

"Hi there," I returned. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I'm going to get," she said. "Mike, I think I need to tell you this before we go. I know it's really soon; we've only known each other for a very short time, but I think that…I'm in love with you."

The silence was thick between us. I was already on the verge of tears, terrified as I was of our destination. For a moment, I tried to hide my emotions from her, but I realized that it was futile.

"Julie," I said, "I've fallen in love with you too. It's stupid, I know. I mean, this is classic psychology, right? Here we are in a desperate situation, and naturally we fall in love with each other." She nodded with a tear-stained smile. "But frankly, I don't care. The simple fact is that I do love you, and I have a feeling that I'm going to for a very long time."

She came over and embraced me. I put my arms around her and held her tightly. We didn't cry, nor did we speak. For several long moments, we did nothing at all. We just stood there, feeling the warmth of each other and trying to stay caught in the moment. And it worked; for a few brief minutes there in my quarters, the melee of terror disappeared and we were able to exist only in the warmth of each other.


	27. The Battle at Golden Gate

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

We stood on the transporter pad, ready to beam down to Earth. The battle, we had been told, was centered in San Francisco. Apparently, the intention of the Borg was to take out Starfleet Headquarters first. This made sense; it ought to be easier to take the rest of the planet over if they could cripple the power behind the Federation. I felt bogged down with all the equipment I was carrying. Still, it made me feel better to know that everything the Federation had to offer in the way of personal protection was literally strapped to me at this moment.

"Energize," I said.

The world around me shimmered in a dazzling display of what Heisenberg would have labeled the impossible. It reappeared in the form of heavy rain and lightning. Starfleet had determined that this was the best weather for fighting the Borg, since the ionic distortion would hopefully mess with their ability to function as a hive, and they had created this storm as a result. To me, it seemed only to add to the melancholy fears I already had.

We materialized in the middle of a street, and immediately we began looking for the rest of the ground assault teams. They weren't hard to find. Ahead of us, near the bay, we could see phaser beams lancing out in the rain. We ran as hard and fast as we could, eventually meeting up with the rest of the force. It only took a few minutes for me to find Picard, who was shouting orders to various teams. As I looked across the bay, I could see that the Borg were advancing slowly, methodically, across the Golden Gate bridge. It seemed ironic to me somehow.

"Good to see you, Captain," I said breathlessly to Picard as we joined the ranks.

"Glad you made it, Mike," he returned. "We're covering the bridge, but there will be other entry points into the city. I want you and your squad to cover the north sector." I nodded, wiping the rain from my eyes as I did.

"Good luck," I said simply, wishing that I could say more.

"You too, Mike," he replied, then turned back to the duty at hand. I noticed LaForge among the fray, toting his weaponry and wearing a look of readiness.

"Team," I said, "follow me." We jogged toward the northern end of our front, cringing with the whine of phasers and the explosive sound of mortar fire as we went. Finally, we reached the far end of the front, drawing our phaser rifles first.

"Spread out," I said. "But keep close. Be ready to fall back at my command."

Ahead, on the bridge, I could make out the faint outline of the Borg front. They were marching slowly, indifferently, through the pelting rain. It seemed to me that hundreds of people were shouting all at once that the Borg had adapted to their weapons. I wondered at the veracity of this, and as a test I fired my phaser at one of the drones. The beam bounced harmlessly off of its protective shield. The Borg were already stepping over the bodies of their fallen comrades, and some of the drones were busy clearing the bodies out of the way of the approaching masses.

Meanwhile, to the north another group of drones was approaching. These had not even been fired upon, but very quickly we learned that they, too, had adapted to our phaser modulations. I took a deep breath and prayed a silent prayer. Then I turned to my team. They were completely soaked and already miserable. It was at that moment, I think, I fully realized what it meant to be a captain. I dropped my phaser into the mud, and reached behind me to withdraw my twenty-fourth century shotgun. I held it high for a moment, looking at each member of my team. Then I drew a deep breath, smelling the rain and the ionized air as I shouted at the top of my lungs.

"Charge!"

We ran toward the Borg as fast as we could. The rain pelted our faces, stinging as we ran into it. Lightning flashed, glittering off of the metal carapaces of the Borg as we rushed them, sighting them in with our weapons and waiting for the killing range. In that moment, I knew what true hatred was, and I fed off of it. In the past couple of months, my actions had resulted in many deaths. This had been difficult for me to deal with at first; I had spent more than one sleepless night mulling over it.

But now something else had taken the place of my conscientious brooding. I _hated_ the Borg, and I was more than ready to kill as many of them as I could, as violently as I could. I almost had an itch to reach for the bat'leth behind my back. But I waited; that moment might come, but it was not here yet.

We charged until we were within firing distance of the Borg, then we stopped and took aim and fired the first volley. Within seconds, hundreds of Borg drones went down, twitching in the final agony that was paradoxically their relief from a life of enslavement. The blasting sound of the shotguns rang in my ears, coupled with the heavy sound of the rain slapping against our suits and the not-so-distant thunder. Joining the rest of the cacophony was the sound of battle-cries among us. It served only to fuel my hatred of the Borg. I was ready to kill these bastards.

"Keep firing!" I yelled, as if it were necessary. The Borg kept advancing, and we kept shooting them down, over and over. As it was on the bridge, eventually the bodies began piling so high that several drones stepped forward to clear them out of the way of the advancing throng. I focused on those drones, and fired as quickly as my electronic sights bore down on them. After all, these weren't medics, they were drones. Every step in impeding the Borg would help.

"You bastards!" I shouted, rushing forward a little ahead of the fray. Finally, in the moment when it most counted, my fears had finally given way to something more primal. I wanted to single-handedly disembowel each one of these drones. For what they had done to my race. For what they had done to other races. For what they were about to do. I shot at them until my weapon finally signaled that it was empty, then I threw my weapon in their direction, a cry of ultimate hatred.

Around me, my team was running out of ammo as well, but the Borg kept coming. It was time for hand-to-hand combat, I knew. I experienced a momentary wave of fear. This was the moment I had been dreading for months. I knew that I was afraid of what the Borg could do at close range. They were like zombies, spreading their uncaring tendrils of death with a single touch. But somehow, it didn't matter in that moment. I suddenly did not care if I died, as long as I took them with me. The most important thing in my mind was that they not succeed. They must not take the day, no matter what it took to stop them.

"Activate armor," I said, pressing the button on the side of my suit.

I took a deep breath and drew my bat'leth. I turned and looked at the woman I loved. We shared a long moment through the rain.

"Stay behind me," I said, trying to be brave for her.

"Like hell," she said defiantly, drawing her own bat'leth. I smiled, despite the conditions.

"I love you," I said.

"I love you too," she returned, and we shared a brief kiss. I didn't care at that moment who saw me. For all I knew, this was the last moment we would ever share together. I turned toward the oncoming Borg, wishing that they could understand, if only for a moment, what had just passed between myself and Julie.

Without a word, we charged the Borg. I like to think that the raw hatred I felt at that moment was shared by everyone in my team. I ran toward them, raising my blade as I did. Jerry was beside me, crying out as we moved forward. Finally, it seemed, he and I were making a difference. In the space it took for us to reach the Borg, I felt the depth of our friendship as I'd never felt it before. I remembered moments from our childhood, each one embodied in a raindrop hitting my face.

We were ten years old, playing Star Trek in the back yard. Our warp engine was an upside-down bicycle, our bridge the sandbox in my back yard. We argued over who would get to be Captain Picard this time, each of us wanting to be the one who would lead the crew to eventual safety. Jerry won, of course.

Now the tables were turned. We were grown up now, and I was in command. Behind us, hundreds of officers charged, the sound of their boots hitting the mud competing with the noise of the thunder. The pace of our group quickened; I was now running as fast as I could just to stay ahead. The Borg loomed closer, walking at their slow, indifferent pace.

At last, we crashed into the Borg, the sheer momentum of us ploughing through their front line and knocking many of them back. I swung my bat'leth with every ounce of strength I had at the nearest drone, decapitating it instantly. I wanted to stop moving forward, but the surging masses behind me pushed me further into the tangle of drones. Around me I could hear screams, but I was disoriented, and could not tell if they were screams of victory or of pain.

Finally, we had stopped advancing, and the real fighting began.

Instantly, I felt hands running over me. Black nanotubes shot out at my neck, bouncing harmlessly off of the skin-thin protective shield. Each time something would connect, I could hear the faint buzzing crackle of the suit. I only hoped that it would last the battle, and I still nearly jumped out of my skin each time it happened.

I found that I could not pick my targets at this close range, so I began swinging wildly, driving the Borg back and injuring or killing the nearest ones. The rest of my team seemed to see that this was working, so they began doing it as well. We advanced in stages, slashing forward for several steps, then holding our ground as the Borg drones would retaliate. Once, out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone's shield falter, leaving him vulnerable. It only took a couple of seconds; the Borg struck, and his skin was crawling with nanites before he could hit the ground. At the back of my mind, I puzzled at what had gone wrong with his suit.

It happened again, and again. Two more down. I focused nearly everything I had on the closing drones in front of me, but every split second that I had to spare was spent studying the people who were falling. Then I saw it.

There were Borg on the ground, crawling among the legs of the other Borg and our people. All it took was a quick reach up from a drone on the ground, and the shield was deactivated. It was a sickening reminder to me that the Borg had yet another fantastic advantage over us: they were fighting with a unified mind.

"Watch out for drones on the ground!" I shouted, as another officer went down screaming and grasping at her collar. Instantly, everyone around me began keeping an eye out in _all_ directions.

I felt someone brush up against me from behind, and in an instant I could see that Jerry was beside me. Together, we made two blades, which worked much better than one. The Borg in front of us were going down much faster, and I realized as I stepped over convulsing bodies that we were actually advancing slightly.

A small beam of light flew overhead from behind us, landing in the midst of the Borg ahead. For a long second, nothing happened. Then we had to shield our eyes as an explosion ripped scores of drones into shreds, sending pale white and metallic chunks in all directions. Someone had thrown a grenade of some sort. I smiled in spite of myself. _Hell_, I thought, _I didn't even know we _had_ grenades available._

More grenades began flying overhead, carrying with them a powerful punch that threatened to break the front line of the Borg from behind. As if to underscore this, the air was suddenly filled with the sound of powerful thrumming engines. Several runabouts flew overhead, delivering phased death to the drones in front of us. The Borg might have the ability to adapt to weapon modulations, but a full blast from a ship-sized phaser bank was enough to overload and vaporize just about anything. Columns of white-hot light replaced whole sections of the Borg, the only trace of their existence a smoldering black mark on the rain-drenched soil.

I heard victorious cheers behind me, and I was tempted to join in them, but I could already see that the battle wasn't over. It would take the runabouts a long time to take out all of the Borg, and my guess was that they were only going to have time for a few brief strafing runs before they would have to return to the space battle. Still, it did clear the area a bit, and it allowed us to advance.

As we entered the area where the Borg had been, we were instantly hit with a wave of ash. It was disgusting, but at that moment it felt like exactly what ought to be happening. I looked at the re-mobilizing Borg in front of us and screamed in defiance. No words, just a lung-emptying shout that indicated my hatred toward them. I looked over at Jerry. He looked calmly back.

"Let's do this," he said.

We ran, still shouting, toward the Borg. The smoke was clearing a bit from the strafing run, and in the distance I could hear the runabout turning to make its next pass. Ahead, many of the Borg in our general area seemed to be clustered together; some of them weren't even facing us. I wondered at this as we approached. It seemed too easy that we might actually surprise them.

Just as we hit, I realized my mistake. The drones who had been facing away from us stepped out of the way, revealing a crouched drone. It stood, eight feet tall and three feet wide, an impenetrable barrier. One arm was forward, the hand reaching out as if to assimilate us from several feet away. The other arm of the giant Borg beast was extended back so far into the crowd that I could not see its end. It didn't really matter; we were too close and running too fast at it to stop.

In a lightning-quick motion, I saw the other arm dart forward, sinewy muscles rippling and metal glinting. It was only then that my brain registered the long, sharp-bladed appendage thrusting forward. My heart nearly exploded in my chest as it flew by me, lodged for a second in something solid, then withdrew back to its owner's side.

It was soaked with blood.

The bile rose in my throat, and my eyes misted over as I realized that I was not hit. In a confused second – or perhaps longer, I'll never know – I thrust the point of my bat'leth upward, shearing metal and rending flesh as I tore the giant drone's face in half. My blade stuck in its skull, and as the massive thing collapsed backward, my fingers slipped off of the handle.

It seemed to me that everything slowed down for a moment. The drone's body fell through the air, and in that moment I turned to my friend, who now lay bleeding on the ground. I looked down at his chest, but instantly had to look back up. The wound was fatal. There was a huge tear across Jerry's chest, the ragged meat of his chest convulsing with every blood-pumping breath. The shock of seeing him like this hit me, and the tears came streaming out.

"Jerry!" I tried to say, getting about half of it out. Then I knew what I had to do. I slammed my palm against my chest. "Allen to _Ascension_! This is a medical emergency!"

Nothing.

"Allen to Starfleet Medical!"

Nothing.

"This is Captain Allen! Can anyone hear me?!"

Dreadful, ominous nothing.

Jerry coughed, spitting blood a couple of inches into the air. His body began convulsing, and he grabbed my arm to steady himself. I leaned down closer to his face.

"Jerry," I pleaded through my tears, "I'm so sorry I got you into this. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry…" I kept repeating it, as if saying it enough times would stall the inevitable. But the shaking got worse, and Jerry began to cough up more blood. Finally, he reached a hand up to my head, pulling me down until my ear was next to his mouth. For one small moment, his body ceased shaking, and he was able to choke out a sentence.

"Get 'em for me, Mike."

His hand fell from my head. I started to assure him that I would, but when I looked into his eyes, I saw for the first time since I had known him that they were not looking back at me. A final, ragged breath escaped his lungs, and he was still.

An eternity seemed to have passed; people were rushing past us at breakneck speed, and somewhere, distantly beyond the pounding of my heart in my ears, I could hear the shouting and the thunder. I even saw flashes of light from the runabouts' phasers dancing across Jerry's lifeless face.

I realized that I had just faced death and lost. I knew now what it truly was to lose to death. I was so shocked that I could not breathe, let alone sob. I just stared down, trying desperately to draw in air, and at the same time not wanting to. I would have been perfectly content to have died at that moment, but it simply hadn't happened, and there was absolutely nothing I could do.

I glanced up, seeing the bodies around me. They were officers; we were advancing again. This seeming victory meant nothing to me; everything we could accomplish here today seemed hollow and pointless now.

When the sobs finally came, they came hard. I collapsed onto the ground next to my lifelong friend's body, pounding my fists into the mud in sorrow and rage. For several long minutes I carried on, until bruises had appeared on my hands. Finally, a hand rested on my shoulder. It seemed familiar, and when I turned to look up I found myself staring at Captain Picard. There were tears in his eyes, but he wore a brave face. Behind him, I could see Julie, crying softly. Something inside of me breathed a small sigh of relief that she was alive. In an instant, I turned back to my friend's body, hating myself for that brief repast.

"There will be time to grieve later, Mike," Picard said in a choked voice. He leaned over and gently placed a hand under Jerry's broken body, indicating that I should help him. Slowly, gingerly, we lifted him off the ground.

"What…" it was all I could say. Picard seemed to channel his strength to me, if only for a moment.

"Let's take him home, Mike."


	28. The Sphere

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

We had barely retreated to a safe distance from the advancing line of Borg drones, when suddenly an explosion ripped through them, casting blood and rain in every direction as it thundered across the open ground. It was so powerful that the Golden Gate bridge swayed back and forth from the force of the blast. We ducked behind an outcropping of rock, feeling the ground shake violently beneath us.

It was several long moments before I dared put my head up again. When I did, I had to catch my breath.

A massive crater had formed. Its center was nothing but wet ash, but as the blast radius expanded, I could see thousands of charred bodies. The smoke from the blast was thick, but in the rain it quickly began to dissipate. Across the bridge, and behind where the bomb had just dropped, I could see movement.

They were still coming.

"We have to get out of here," Picard said. I looked down at Jerry's body, then back up at Picard.

"No!" I shouted over the rain. "We have to stay and fight them!"

"We can't, Mike!" he shouted back. "Starfleet is going to continue bombing them. We can't hold the bridge any other way! We have to get back to _Enterprise_!"

With that, he tapped his communicator, and within seconds I felt the familiar shimmer of the transporter around me. As we materialized in the transporter room, I was suddenly aware of the paralyzing cold. I was soaked, and the ambient temperature of the ship was very low. I nearly passed out as I stepped off of the transporter. Along with the others, I immediately reached up to unfasten my armor suit. A nearby ensign handed us towels to dry ourselves. I turned, and realized something was missing.

"Where's his body?!" I demanded, looking at Picard.

"It's been beamed to the cargo bay," he said quietly. I tried to respond, but was again choked up with tears. I simply nodded toward his blurry face, and reached out to lean up against the wall.

"It's not fair," I managed finally.

"No," Picard agreed. "It's not."

"Mike," Julie said, dropping the formality of titles and placing a hand in mine, "we don't have much time."

I didn't want to hear that. I didn't feel like fighting anymore. I just wanted to go somewhere and think for a while. I needed that. I deserved that. Surely…

"She's right, Mike," Picard said. "We need to get you back to the _Ascension_. This fight is far from over."

"This fight was over before it started," I said. I looked at the transporter chief. "Beam us directly to the bridge of the _Ascension_, and see to it that Commander Foster's body is beamed to…one of _our_ cargo bays."

"Aye, sir."

* * *

Moments after I materialized, I was thrown to the floor as the bridge shook from a barrage of fire. Part of me wanted to stay on the floor – at least there I could get some rest. But I had a sudden mental picture of Jerry grabbing me by the collar and telling me to get the hell up; there would be time for my sorrows later.

So I hauled myself up from the floor.

"Report," I said weakly. Weston stood up from the captain's chair, offering it to me.

"Shields are down to eighty-seven percent," she said. "Hull integrity is holding at present, but we've been getting knocked around a good deal."

"Present course?" I asked.

"There's a fleet of ships on the night side that will be leaving the system with evacuees," she said. "At the moment, we're trying to provide them with as much cover as possible. I suggest we return fire, sir."

I looked at the screen. Ahead, I could see that we, along with two other starships, were facing a very damaged Borg cube. Off in the distance behind the cube, I could see the flashes of light that indicated another battle front.

"Yes, return fire. Attack pattern theta. Let's see what these Quasar torpedoes can do."

The _Ascension_ dove hard to port almost immediately in compliance with my order. We barely missed being caught in a burst of energy from the cube as we came about. Instantly, the _Ascension _released a spread of six torpedoes, each a dancing point of violet light. As the first three hit, I realized that the last three had been unnecessary. The surface of the cube seemed to ripple in space for a moment, almost as if it were turning into liquid. The bulky frame collapsed in on itself briefly, and then was blasted into oblivion, sending a watery shockwave out in all directions. I felt the deck shudder beneath me as the wave passed us, then there was nothing.

"Damn," Tex said from the station he had just filled. The rest of the bridge seemed to share his sentiments; there was an awed silence that lasted for several seconds.

"Mr. Newman," I said at last, "how many of those do we have?"

"A hundred an' ten, Cap'n," he replied.

"Good." Signal the other two starships that we're moving into the other front. They should be able to oversee the rest of the evacuation.

"Captain," Weston said. "Is that a good idea? That cube was heavily damaged before we hit it, and there could be other cloaked cubes on the night side."

"I don't think we have a choice," I said. "Miss Brock, what is the status of the fleet?"

"They've engaged the main sphere, sir, but they're having difficulty maintaining an offensive because of the independent cubes attacking their flank," Julie said.

"Set a wide course, full impulse. Take us behind the main sphere, and prepare for a strafing run. I want to hit them with a full barrage as we come over the curvature of the surface. Then, when we reach the battle side, I want to be ready to engage the independent cubes immediately." I looked up at Weston and Spock. Both were nodding their approval.

"Weston," I said. "As of this moment, I'm giving you a field promotion. You are now my first officer." It was difficult to say it, but I forced it out.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, showing no excitement. For a second, my vision blurred again. I wiped my eyes and turned back toward the front of the bridge.

"Cap'n," Tex said, "we're comin' up on the far side."

"On screen," I said. The stationary stars were replaced with an expanse of circuitous metal that slowly curved itself into a sphere. As I looked more closely at it, I could see the gridlines that indicated the interlocking of the cubes, a sickly green light glowing barely between each one. There were so many. "What are its shields like?" I asked, afraid of the answer.

"They're not any different than a single cube's shields," Weston answered "The overall shielding has sustained heavy damage, sir." I felt a little relief at that, although a single cube's shields were bad enough. I wondered for a moment what Jerry would have thought of my idea, but immediately had to push the thought away, along with the bile that threatened to rise in my throat.

"Distance to firing range?" I asked.

"Eight hundred thousand kilometers," Julie responded. "We'll be within firing range in twelve minutes."

"Have they detected us?"

"They have," Spock said from his station at the back of the bridge. "But they are concentrating their fire on the attacking front at the moment."

"Good," I said.

"Captain," Weston said, her voice carrying a sense of urgency, "long-range scanners are picking up a mass of ships headed in our direction." I turned around and looked at her quizzically.

"Long-range?" I said. "Can you identify them?"

"Yes. It looks like an entire fleet – over eight hundred ships." Her face suddenly changed into a victorious smile, something I hadn't seen in what seemed like years. "Captain," she said, "the fleet appears to be comprised primarily of Klingon and Romulan ships. Additionally, I'm picking up all sorts of other ships – Breen, Tholian, Tellarite, Orion and…" she paused, "Jem Hadar." Her smile faded a little. A beep sounded. "Captain," she said, "one of the Klingon ships is hailing us."

"On screen."

The view changed to that of a Klingon bridge with a Klingon face in the middle of it; a face I immediately recognized.

"Chancellor Martok," I said. "It's good to see you."

"I don't believe we've met, Captain," Martok said, peering at me through his one good eye.

"Of course," I said. "I'm Captain Michael Allen of the starship _Ascension_.""Well, Captain, as you can see, I've been out doing a little recruiting. The allies of the Federation have officially joined the war. I hope we're not too late to die at your side."

"Not at all, Chancellor. In fact, you might have just turned the tide of the war by showing up," I said with relief. "We noticed the Jem Hadar ships you seem to have in tow."

"Ah yes," Martok said with a laugh. "That took some convincing, let me tell you! But I have some pull with a certain shapeshifter known as Odo, and after a strange discussion with a sea of goo, I was able to persuade the Founders that the Borg are a threat to them as well."

"I hope that they don't have anything up their sleeve," I said. Martok nodded.

"This will be an excellent chance for them to begin the process of regaining their honor as a species," he said. "In the mean time, I try to keep one eye focused on the front _and_ the back," he said with a laugh, pointing at the horrid scar covering his left eye-socket.

"Good," I said. "We're about to strafe the surface of the sphere."

"Understood, Captain. I'll signal the other ships. We're right behind you."

"Thank you, Chancellor."

"Captain, this day will be sung about in many songs. I hope that you will die well."

"Qapla!" I said, ending the transmission. "How long until we're in range?"

"One minute, fifteen seconds," Julie said.

At that moment, the Borg must have detected the fleet coming in behind us. Four independent cubes suddenly decloaked, firing at us. One of them made contact, and I felt the bridge shudder beneath me.

"Quantum torpedoes, fire!" I said, not wanting to waste our complement of the new torpedoes. _Ascension_ dutifully fired, and the torpedoes soared into the nearest cube, engulfing one side in an explosion of flame as we shot past it toward the sphere.

"Report," I said.

"Heavy damage to the cube," Weston said. "It's dead in space, but recovering rapidly. The other three cubes are pursuing."

"Are we in firing range of the sphere?" I asked.

"Aye, sir," Julie said.

"Begin firing Quasar torpedoes and phasers at the sphere. Target remaining weapons to the closest cube behind us."

"Aye, Cap'n," Tex said, his long fingers dancing gracefully across his console.

"Sir," Weston said, "the Chancellor's fleet has engaged the cubes."

"Good. Let's keep on top of it, people."

I felt a small measure of peace as the first violet streaks shot toward the sphere. In the back of my mind, I knew that there was a chance – just a chance – that Jerry had not died in vain. The torpedoes danced across the surface of the sphere, each one tearing through the formidable shields and sending cascades of ripples in all directions. For a moment, I thought this might be easier than we had all anticipated.

But as the effect wore off and none of the cubes disappeared entirely, I realized that my assumption was premature. These new torpedoes were good – good enough to chew a Borg cube into something far less dangerous. But they weren't going to win the day by themselves.

"They are adapting," Spock said, confirming what we all saw on the screen.

"Keep firing," I said. "Hold your course for the front, Mr. Newman."

"Aye, Cap'n," Tex said.

Suddenly, one of the cubes behind us caught up, and returned the barrage of fire we were sending its way. It felt like the _Ascension_ was being thrown on her side, and I had to hang on to the armrest of my chair to keep my seat.

"Damage report!" I said.

"We've got casualties coming in from all over the ship!" Johnstone said. "Ventral shielding is down; we've got hull breaches on decks twenty through twenty-two. Emergency force fields are in place."

"Allen to Engineering," I said. "Demansky, I need those ventral shields back up."

"I'm working on it, sir," Demansky said over the comm. "But we're still pulling our pants up from the last fight."

"How long?" I asked.

"If nobody shoots at us, ten minutes."

"And if they do?"

"Well, sir, I'll try making it five."

"We'll try to hold on that long," I said. "Helm, continue firing, but give us as much evasive action as you can."

"Aye, sir," said Johnstone. Ahead, I could see that while we were still climbing our way across the curved surface of the sphere, we were weaving back and forth. This not only had the effect of keeping us from being hit by the Borg weapons, but it had the added advantage of turning their own attack against them; every time the cube would miss us, it would hit the sphere. This was good.

"Commander," I said to Weston, "how long will it take us to reach the other side?"

"Two minutes, sir," she replied.

I looked down at the sphere's surface below us as the bridge shook from a grazing hit. We were doing a lot of damage; there was a long, jagged scar running across it with our name on it. Still, it didn't seem to be enough.

Suddenly, the greenish light peeping through the cracks between the spheres grew brighter. For a split second I thought the sphere was exploding, and my heart raced. Then I glanced at the bigger picture and realized this was not the case. The sphere was expanding, each cube beginning to break apart from the other.

We watched in horror for several seconds. Although the distance between each cube began to widen, they were all still connected by crackling tendrils of energy that lanced from ship to ship. Eventually, each cube grew so distant from the other that we were able to get a clear look at the interior space of the sphere.

It seemed that every arc of energy that held the cubes in their place came from the center. There we could see a white-hot blaze of light, looking almost like a sun.

"What the hell is that?" I asked breathlessly. A moment passed.

"It is Omega," Spock said.


	29. The Dark

Terror gripped every muscle in my body as I gazed at the viewscreen. The more I stared at the crackling white ball of energy in the center of the sphere, the more details I could pick out. There seemed to be a cube-like superstructure in the center of it. I assumed that it was the source of the energy.

"Are you certain?" I asked.

"The readings confirm it," Spock said. "At the moment, the particles are in their natural destabilized state. It appears that the sphere is moving to engulf the planet. Once it has done so, I believe it will trigger the necessary reaction to stabilize the particles."

"How long do we have?" I asked.

"I estimate less than twenty minutes," he replied gravely.

At that moment, I made a snap decision.

"Take us in, Mr. Newman. Prepare to fire on the superstructure in the center."

"Aye, Cap'n," Tex said, his voice quivering.

"Is that a wise course of action, Captain?" Spock said, raising an eyebrow at me. "We would be providing every cube in the sphere with a clear shot at us, instead of just one side."

"Then we'll have to move very fast," I said. My blood turned to ice as I stared ahead at it, and in that moment I knew that we were going to die. All of us. I was about to take _Ascension_ into the heart of this Borg abomination, and we were going to die defending our planet.

"Captain!" Weston said, as an alarm sounded. "We've been boarded! There are Borg drones on deck twenty-one."

"They must have gotten through while the ventral shields were down," Spock said.

"How many?" I asked.

"Looks like at least thirty," she said.

"Seal off that deck," I said. "Johnstone, see if you can lock out the main computer. Weston, get a security team down to that deck. Get those drones off my ship!"

"Aye sir," she said, and immediately left the bridge.

On the viewer, I could see that we were maneuvering between energy spikes and cubes to enter the heart of the sphere. Instinctively, I knew that we weren't going to be able to destroy this thing with standard energy weapons. The ice in my blood turned to fire. It shot through my veins, exploding through my body in a silent cry of primal rage. I slammed my fist down on my chair, and stepped closer to the viewscreen.

_You selfish, unrelenting bastards,_ I thought. _You travel through the galaxy, sweeping your rotted hands across peaceful worlds and crushing them into the dust of your collective consciousness. You unflinchingly rip apart everything that any sentient being holds dear. You murder husbands, wives, children. Friends, enemies – these words have no meaning to you. There is no sadness among you, but also there is no joy. You cannot feel the wonder that is love for another person, nor can you feel the sorrow when a person you love is extinguished forever before your eyes. You are soulless, unrelenting. And I will stop you. I will step into the gaping maw of your hateful jaws, and fling my starship at you to close them forever. I will carry you to the pits of Hell, where you belong, and this day will be remembered as the day the Borg disappeared from the face of the universe!_

At that moment, my bridge turned into a flash of white light, and was gone.

* * *

My eyes burned for a second, and all I could see were brilliant red explosions left in the wake of the intense light. They cleared slowly, but it did very little good. Wherever I was, it was very dark. Somewhere behind me, I heard a sound. Someone was clapping. I turned around, and saw the only illuminated thing around me.

It was Q.

"Fantastic speech!" he said with a laugh. He was standing, arms folded across his chest, looking at me. He was no longer wearing a Starfleet uniform, as had become his custom over the years. Instead, he wore the attire he had worn when Picard and his crew had encountered him so many years ago. A judge's robes.

"What speech?" I managed. Q scoffed at me.

"The one you were making in your head a few moments ago. Isn't it interesting how some of the greatest thoughts you humans have turn to inane babble once they leave your lips? Frankly, I think you should have developed telepathy centuries ago. It might have quickened the progress of your race."

I did not find myself as short with Q as Picard would have. After all, until recently, I had merely thought of him as a fantastic fictional character. Still, he had broken me from my concentration on the task at hand, and I found myself growing a little tired of the games.

"What do you want, Q?" I asked. He looked hurt.

"Oh, my dear Captain, you've been watching Picard for too long, haven't you? He's gone and spoiled your attitude for me. Ah well, I suppose it was to be expected."

"Look, Q," I said, "I don't really have that much against you, but now is really not the best time to be engaging in conversation. Where's my ship?"

"Where's my ship?" he imitated melodramatically. "This from the man who, scant months ago, was selling clothing to rich patrons on an Earth even more backward than this one. _Your_ ship is safe for now, Captain. And I would advise that when I return you to your proper time, you take measures to keep it that way."

"You know what they're going to do," I said quietly, feeling my own determination. "If sacrificing the _Ascension_ will stop them, then that's what I'm going to do."

"And what if it doesn't stop them?" he asked pointedly. I frowned, realizing that this had not even occurred to me.

"Then we'll die, and be better off than if we live and they succeed."

"_Touché_," he said. "Still, it would be a shame to waste the lives of your crew for a plan that very easily might not work, especially if you were doing it for, let us say, merely revenge."

"Just exactly what the hell are you getting at?" I said loudly, hearing an echo of my voice around me. "What do you want me to do, Q? Can you for once, just once, come out and say whatever it is you're thinking directly?"

Q smiled, and I saw something behind that smile that I had never seen on his face before. There was a faint tinge of fear. Not fear of me, I was certain of that. But fear of…something. In response, he stepped back a pace and snapped his fingers. In an instant, Captain Picard appeared, looking dazed. His uniform was torn in two places, burned in another. His left cheek was bleeding, and it looked as if his nose might be broken. Clearly the battle was not going well on his side of the sphere.

He came to the realization of Q's presence much in the same way I had, but characteristically, his consternation was immediate.

"You again!" he said, almost spat. "What the hell do you want this time, Q?" But he didn't leave it at that. Instead, he strode boldly toward Q, foreboding red and black robes notwithstanding. "Is this some kind of damned game, Q? Because I don't have time for it! You've made it very clear to us that you have no intention of doing anything about this other than to sit on the sidelines and watch. So why keep interrupting?" His face was red with anger. Q smiled again, and this time the impish mirth was back.

"_Mon capitaine_, at least I'm cheering for your side. Did you ever think of that?" he said. "Really, after all these years, your treatment of old friends still leaves so much to be desired. Besides, I brought you here to keep your young friend here from making any rash mistakes."

Picard sighed wearily. "I'm sorry, Q," he said, and I could tell it pained him to say it. Q clapped again.

"Ah, Jean-Luc, the words I've wanted to hear for so long! Too bad it's too late for us to start fresh, eh? Too bad you've got so little time left to live and enjoy my company."

"Q," I interrupted, "why do you not want me to crash the _Ascension_ into the structure in the center of that sphere? Why is it important to you?" I looked at him warily, and once again his face turned from the friendly, mischevious look it normally bore, to the somber and condescending gaze of the judge.

"Because if you do that, you will seal the fate of everyone."

"Everyone in the universe?" I gaped. Q shook his head.

"Everyone in _every_ universe," he said.  
"Even you?" Picard asked after a terrible silent moment. Q looked down.

"Even us."

"How?" I asked. It was all I could say.

"The multiverse exists because for every possible outcome of every situation, a universe is created around that outcome. That much you know already. But what you don't know is that there are moments of convergence that stretch across every universe; certain events that occur every single time in every single one of them. For example, there is no universe in which the Q do not exist. There is no universe in which humanity does not exist. There is no universe where the Borg do not exist. And," he paused, "there is no universe in which they are not attacking Earth at this very moment."

"But how is that possible?" I asked. "How can there not be a universe in which the Earth is already destroyed?"

"There simply…isn't," he replied. A sudden light dawned on Picard's face.

"That's how you knew," he breathed. "That's why you took such an interest in humanity."

Q nodded.

"And it's also how the Borg knew," I said, the pieces of the puzzle finally beginning to interlock in my mind.

"Yes," Q said. "It took them a long time to discover it, but they finally did." He looked at me. "If you fly your starship into that structure, Captain Allen, all you'll do is trigger the process a few minutes early, and all existence will have to pay for it."

"Q," Picard said, his voice pleading now, "you have to stop this. If the Borg succeeding here means what you say it means, you must do something to stop it! This is not a game anymore." The last sentence he said in almost a whisper. Q sighed.

"I'm afraid," he said, "that my hands are somewhat tied in this matter."

"I don't understand," I said, suddenly angry. "I thought the Q were omnipotent!"

"Very nearly so," he said. "But I think there might be a way to explain it to you, if I have a little help." With that, he snapped his fingers again, and the level of lighting suddenly increased to a faint greenish glow. It took only a second or two to realize that we were deep in the heart of a Borg ship.

And before us stood the Borg Queen.


	30. What the Queen Had to Tell

She stepped slowly into our midst, her lithe electronic body swaying back and forth in a manner that was both seductive and repulsive, the chalk-white pallor of her face broken only by a pair of deep red, sensuously curved lips. In an instant, I hated her and loved her.

"You again," she said to Q, her voice oozing like honey.

"None other," he replied, making a sweeping bow. Picard's face was a fixture of horror.

"You…you know him?" he asked, his voice sounding too shocked to be accusatory.

"Locutus," she said, turning to him. "It is so very good to see you again. It's been a long time." She reached a hand out and caressed the air in front of him. Picard backed up a few paces. Q chortled.

"As I understand it," he said, "the last time you saw him, things got so bad you lost your head over it." No one laughed, least of all the Queen. She turned her head and stared at him with barely hidden malice.

"Sometimes sacrifices must be made in the quest for perfection," she said. I suddenly found my voice.

"Q, what is _she_ doing here?"

"An excellent question, Captain," Q said. "What _are_ you doing here, my beautiful Queen?" he asked. She raised her lips in a half snarl, then turned to me.

"Who are you?" she asked. Her gaze was withering, and I wanted to turn and run. But there was no place to run to, so I stood my ground, choosing to get angry instead.

"I'm Captain Michael Allen," I said, "and I'm here to kill you for what you've done!" She looked at me for a long moment, then smiled, the perspiration glinting across her upturned lips and face.

"And what have we done to merit this hatred?" she asked.

"You killed my friend," I said, knowing that it was only a fraction of the answer that had been in my head.

"Like I said, there are sacrifices which must be made."

"Q, what is this all about?" Picard said, and he looked nauseous as he said it. The Queen stared back at him, then at Q.

"You mean you haven't told them?" she asked, mock incredulity lining her dripping voice.

"I thought I would save that part for you," he said. "After all, in a universe of mortals and immortals, sometimes it's best to be fair about these things."

The Queen tipped her head back and laughed. It was a throaty, almost mechanical sound, and I found that more and more her beauty was beginning to slip away, the monster beneath it beginning to surface.

"I assume you've even taken the trouble of stopping time for this little game of yours," she said. Q nodded. She gave an almost polite nod back at him. "Very well." She began to pace.

"Tell us what?" Picard asked, cocking his head to one side and staring intently at the Queen, then at Q, then back at the Queen again.

"I'm going to tell you," she said, "how it began."

* * *

_The time of the beginning is so far etched into the past that the expansive chasm between it and now has seen the rise and fall of countless civilizations. At the furthest reaches of what will some distant day be called the Delta Quadrant of the Milky Way Galaxy – these words have no meaning now – there is a planet. It is a beautiful planet, lush green with vegetation and life. Those who live there are happy. No – they are more than happy. They are filled with _joy._ There are no wars among these people. There is no peace because there has never been anything wrong to suggest there was a need for peace. There is simply life, and they live within the comforting womb of pure joy. Within _Perfection

_There is a girl. She sits cross-legged on a rock, gazing into the night sky at a million billion stars, each one a brilliant, distinctive pinprick of glorious light pouring through the velvet canvas hung by the gods._

_She thinks about the gods for a moment, her young mind turning the thought over in the slow but deliberate way that a child's mind does. She is thankful to them for what they have given her and her people. She worships them in the way that a child does, watching what her parents do and doing her best to mimic the action and the intent. Her faith in them – their existence, their power, their perfection – is absolute._

_Except that she fears them._

_She tries not to admit it to herself, for even a child has a sense of what blasphemy is. But she cannot shake her fear. When she is older, she imagines, she will understand the gods more fully, and then the fear of them will melt away, as it seems to have done for her parents. They love the gods, and do not appear to be afraid of them at all, so perhaps she will be the same._

_The child grows on this green and wonderful world. She blossoms into a woman. She loves, and she is loved. The joy of this world envelopes her as it does the rest of its inhabitants, and she thanks the gods with them for it._

_But somewhere in the joy, there is still the seed of fear, and it has grown. Things that were only vague whispers of notions to her mind as a child, begin to slowly take the form of definite ideas. _

_She knows the gods exist. She has seen them. At times throughout her life – often, in fact – they have come down from the sky and walked among her people. They even have taken on the form of her people, though she wonders at times if this is not a backward way of thinking about the notion. She has even spoken to them before. Oh yes, she knows they exist._

_But somewhere in the back of her mind, she thinks that this might be part of the problem. Should gods be walking among the people, as if people were their equals? It has never occurred to her until this moment that perhaps, in some way, her people _are_equals. She knows that they do not have the power of the gods. She has never seen their power used against her people – there has never been a need – but instinctively she knows that there is no question as to their powerful superiority._

_But their authority, perhaps? She wonders, finally holding back the mental fingers that threaten to push the thoughts away, as they have so many times before. Surely there is no crime in simply thinking. She wonders, in fact, if in some strange way, she is _meant_ to think of these things. _

_The seed grows in her mind, branching out into every facet of her life. The joy is still there, all around her, but as time goes on, it permeates her less and less. She is not sorrowful, nor is she hollow. She is merely consumed with her thoughts. And her thoughts begin to give way to something deeper and more primal – desires. She finds that above all, she desires an equality with the gods. She no longer wishes to subject herself to them. No; she wishes to be equal to them. _

_Thoughts and desires give way to words. She begins to tell others around her, spreading the word that perhaps – just perhaps – their existence is not so joyous after all. That they have somehow been shortchanged, denied the freedom to take their place _alongside_ the gods, not beneath them. At first there is resistance, but after a time her ideas begin to spread among the people. It is like a spark that, with the proper force of delicious air, gorges itself into a flame that eventually becomes a wildfire. Soon there is a new unity among her people, a unity which stands against the joy they have been given and demands more. In one voice, they will cry out against the gods, and demand that they be given the equality they so richly deserve._

_She will always remember the day that it happens. The jagged lightning and the roiling boom of thunder – things that have never happened on her world – are forever etched into her mind. _

_It is the day that they – her people – stand up and tell the gods that they will no longer be subservient to them. _

_The crash of thunder is suddenly accompanied by a rising wind, which tears across the open plains and whips her hair into her face. She is frightened. Only too late does she realize the mistake she has made. Her people realize it too, but somehow they still rally behind her, their anger at the gods doubled by their fear. The voice of the gods, terrible in its ferocity, is carried into their midst on the wind._

_"We have made your world a haven of peace. We have given you joy and perfection to live within, and this is how you thank us?"_

_There is no answer to this. She cannot utter a word._

_"Speak!" the voice calls, with a tone of authority that both chills her and urges her anger. She steps forward._

_"You have given us nothing but rules!" she cries, desperate to be heard over the wind. "Our joy is an ignorant one; you have kept us here to do your bidding, all the while telling us that we were happy. And for a time, we believed you. But now we know the truth. We are your equals, and we demand to be treated as equals!"_

_There is a brief stillness that makes its way through the wind, and then there is a bright flash of light. Before them, clad in red and black robes, is the figure who will some day and in some other form be known to a man named Picard as Q. He steps forward toward her. She shrinks back, but cannot go far because of the pressing crowd behind her. He sneers at her, then at them._

_"So," he says, "this is what all of you think?" Most of them look down, but there are a few nods scattered among the people. He looks back at her. "This is your doing," he says simply. _

_"Yes," she admits, barely forcing her gaze to remain locked with his. He peers at her for a long moment, steepling his fingers._

_"So you think you would like to live outside of what we have given you…"_

_"We do not need you to give us perfection. We can find it on our own," she says in a hoarse whisper._

_"Very well, then," he says, his voice now a cold monotone. "Seek your perfection someplace else!" He waves his hand, and in a flash he is gone. A moment later, in another flash, so is their world._

_She awakes to a bundle of strange sensations. The first is cold. Bitter cold. She opens her eyes, and in a horrifying instant she realizes that she – they – are no longer on their planet. They are somewhere else. Some vast, distant frozen wasteland. _

_The second sensation that she notices is much stronger, but impossible to define. She feels, somehow, as if something is slowly draining away from her. Nothing physical, but something beyond the physical. She does not know it yet, but the something she feels ebbing away is her life. In the coming months, as she and her people start their lives over in misery, she discovers something she has never before seen: death. At first, it is just a few of her people. They are found motionless in the morning, the characteristic fog of breath missing from their frozen lips. In time, some of her people will find that, with the right effort, they can accomplish the same thing on their own, without having to wait for the uncaring cold to do it for them._

_She is horrified, and although she does not know a word to describe what she is seeing, the instinct begins to form within her that she – they – are mortal. She now regrets her actions, her very thoughts, and wishes to once again be safe within the perfection of the gods._

_No, not the gods. She realizes that she wishes for the perfection, but not the gods._

_She begins to grow old; those of her people who have the will to live have found ways to survive the harsh climate of this frozen rock. In time, they have even learned that there are warmer regions to which they can migrate. They discover caves, in which they can dwell and keep fires going. There is food and shelter, and in its confines they are able to piece together a kind of slipshod life for themselves._

_It is within these caves that she one day makes the discovery that will change the outcome of their future. She travels far into it, farther than any one of her people has ever traveled before. Suddenly, the narrow walls give way to a vast chasm, so tall and wide and long that she cannot see the far end of it. _

_And she realizes it is an abandoned city._

_There are things here that her mind has never had the frame of reference to even dream of. It is warmer in this city, though how it can be warm with no fire is something beyond her comprehension. She wonders why there are no others here, though up until this moment it has never even crossed her mind to consider the possibility that there might even _be_ others in the universe besides her people and the gods._

_Perhaps it was left by the gods, she muses, but then dismisses the thought. The gods have no use for corporeal things. Someone has left this city. Or perhaps, she thinks with a shudder, they too have tasted the eternal stillness which has claimed so many of her people._

_In the center of the city, she finds what seems to her mind to be the source of everything else. It is a pillar of solid metal, with sections of a transparent material that she would have called glass if she knew the word. It casts a faint, greenish glow, and there are strange symbols dancing across it. She does not yet know that these are words – her people have never corresponded their verbal skills with their ability to make signs. But she feels somehow drawn to it, and reaches out a hand to touch it, as if somehow tactile contact will make it more real to her._

_It does, and in an instant, her mind is filled with billions of radiant images and sounds, smells and textures. The existence of an entire race explodes into her consciousness, and her body writhes in tandem with all the pleasures and the pains, the joys and the sorrows, of those who have left behind this wondrous piece of what she now knows is technology._

_But she does not pull away. Her mind slowly begins to organize what she is experiencing, in the way that only an unbound mind can. Despite the fact that not everything she sees is good, there is an ethereal spasm of joy that she experiences as she touches the pillar. The more she assimilates, the more she realizes that the perfection she has so longed for is captured within this touching of the minds of others. It finally occurs to her that the imperfection she has felt is embodied by what her mind has fought so hard to conceal. Loneliness._

_A single, heavy tear slips from the corner of her eye, traces over the flesh of her cheek, then trickles down her throat and between her breasts. Yes, it is the loneliness that she has sought to destroy. And before her she can see the answer to that loneliness. This race of beings has left in its wake a gift of the most magnificent power. No matter that this power, this…technology, was what destroyed them. She knows that now it has fallen into the proper hands. With what she knows now, she can reach out to her people and touch their minds, bring them all together as one in a way they had never imagined possible._

_And there are others. She knows that now, too. The universe is full of others. She rejoices in this thought. _

_"We will add their biological…and technological…distinctiveness to our own," she whispers._

_The thought occurs to her that others might resist this change. They might not want to play a part in her people's – her – return to perfection. It does not matter._

_"Their cultures will adapt to service us," she says, this time a little louder._

_But what if they don't? What if they are afraid? What if they resist?_

_"Resistance," she says coldly, "is futile."_

* * *

I sat on the floor now, my body aching from holding one position for so long. The Queen finished her tale, then turned to us with a smile. It was warm and friendly, but only in the sense that a monster may assume the guise of something warm and friendly. Picard stood with his arms folded across his chest, his face white as a sheet.

"The Q were your _gods_?!" he asked in disbelief.

"We thought they were," she answers bitterly. "We had never known anything else, so how could we possibly have had any idea that they were simply another race of imperfect beings in an imperfect universe?"

"Well," Q said, "there's no need to get nasty about all this." He turned to Picard. "What do you think of the story, Jean-Luc? Does it satisfy that burning curiosity that you've always had about how the Borg came to be?"

"Yes," Picard breathed. Q snapped his fingers, and the Queen disappeared.

"If it helps any," he said, "I can probably make sure that she does not remember this conversation."

"Probably?" I asked. Q nodded solemnly.

"Yes, probably. It seems that, for the moment, my powers are growing weaker. This is only temporary, I'm sure, but I thought you might like to know. I would advise, Captain Allen, that when I return you to your ship, you move it out of the center of that sphere, and find another way to beat her."

"So that's it then?" Picard said with a flush of dismay. "Your part in all of this is over?"

Q smiled in a way that seemed to indicate what Picard had just said was somehow hilariously ironic.

"_Non, mon capitaine_," he said. "My part in all of this is just about to begin."


	31. Apotheosis

"Belay previous orders!" I said as soon as the bridge reappeared. "Get us out of here!"

It was a credit to the crew serving under me that, despite their looks of confusion, there was no hesitation in carrying out the strange order. I guessed by those looks, however, that they did not even know I had been gone.

"Aye, Cap'n," Tex said, though by the time he said it we were already turning back around and exiting the inside of the sphere. We were rocked by several blasts as we exited, and I had to struggle to my chair.

"Damage report," I said.

"Primary shields down to seventy-two percent," Spock said. I tapped my communicator.

"Allen to Weston."

"Weston here, sir."

"Report," I said.

"We tried to beam them out, but they have some kind of personal transport inhibitors. We've dispatched about half of them, and haven't lost anyone yet," she replied. I thought I could hear a bit of pride in that voice. Just as well, I mused. Hell, I was proud of her.

"Good work, Commander. Keep it up, then get back up here as quickly as you can. We need everyone we can get."

"Aye, sir," she said. I tapped my communicator again.

"Allen to Engineering. Demansky, please tell me something good."

"All right," he replied, sounding flustered. "I've got the ventral shielding back up, but I suggest you don't try taking many hits down there for a while. They're only holding on at thirty percent."

"That'll have to be good enough," I replied. "Helm, take us back to rejoin Martok's fleet."

"Aye, Cap'n."

"Captain," Spock said, "might I inquire as to why we turned around?" Before he had even finished his sentence, we were hit again. It was a grazing hit, but the bridge shook beneath us nonetheless.

"I'll have to explain it later," I said.

"Understood," Spock replied, returning his gaze to his console.

"Sir," Johnstone said, "We're being hailed by one of the Romulan ships."

"On screen," I said. The screen lit up with the interior of a Romulan warbird, and I saw the face of Praetor Donatra.

"Captain," she said, "I'm glad to see you're still alive.

"Not as glad as I am," I said.

"No doubt. Our sensors indicate that we have very little time to destroy the sphere, yet you seem to be moving away from it."

"Yeah," I said. "You're just going to have to trust me about that. Concentrate your fire on the outside only; for the moment, it's the only thing that we can do."

"If you say so, Captain. I hope this isn't a mistake." Her face disappeared from the screen.

"I hope so, too," I muttered.

"Captain," Johnstone said, "there's another Federation starship joining us.

"The_Enterprise_," I said, already knowing. "Hail them." I saw Picard, his face not looking any better than it had a few minutes ago.

"Any good ideas, Mike?" he asked. I rubbed a hand over my face and felt stubble. How long had it been since I'd shaved? Or taken a shower, for that matter…

"I think we'd better find the Queen," I said. Something tells me we're not going to get anywhere unless we get to her first."

"Agreed," Picard said. "Form an assault team, and I'll do the same. We'll find a hole in their shields – or make one – and beam aboard."

"Understood. Give me five minutes," I said, and cut the transmission. If the whole bridge crew had gasped, it would have been no more awkward. I turned around, looking at all of them. This was not going to be an easy decision.

"Are you really goin' in there, Cap'n?" Tex asked, his face white.

"I am," I said. "This mission is going to be extremely dangerous. I'm not going to order anyone to come with me, but…" before I could finish, people were already stepping forward. Spock, Tex, Johnstone, and Julie stood in front of me at attention. I looked at them with pride, feeling the tears welling up. There was one person missing…

"I see," I said, smiling to hide the bleary eyes. I looked briefly at Julie, wanting to tell her not to come. But I knew that this was part of the job, and my feelings for her could have nothing to do with it. At that moment, the doors to the bridge opened, and Weston entered. She looked like someone had beaten the royal shit out of her; her uniform was torn and her face bleeding. But she had a malevolent grin on her face that told me there had been a fantastic victory in the lower decks of this vessel.

"No casualties?" I asked. Weston nodded. I reached forward and shook her hand. It was uncharacteristic and informal, but it seemed like the right thing to do.

"What are my orders?" she asked, almost cheerily.

"I need you to babysit again," I said. "Picard and I are leading teams into the sphere to try to find the Queen."

"Sir," she said, "according to regulation, I should be the one to go." I laughed.

"Don't you know by now that nobody ever listens to that order?" I said. "Besides, there's something I know that you don't, and I don't have time to explain it. Please, just do as good a job with the ship as you did with those drones."

"Aye, sir," she said, and that was that. It struck me that for once, I was much less worried about leaving my ship. I knew that it would be in good hands. It was a very good feeling, in a time when good feelings were hard to come by.

"Hail the _Enterprise_," I said. Picard's face reappeared. "We're ready," I told him.

"Good. We're detecting a collapse in shields in sector zero-zero-four. Be ready to beam out in the next three minutes.

"Understood," I said. "Allen out." I cut the transmission, and silently, we all quickly filed into the turbolift, headed for the transporter room."

* * *

I noticed two frightening things as we materialized aboard the sphere. One was that there were a lot of drones in our immediate vicinity. The other was that they were already moving toward us.

"I guess we're a threat," I said, and fired my phaser at the nearest one. He – it – fell, spasming as it went down. I could see Picard's team a little further down the corridor. The only person I knew from the team besides Picard was Geordi LaForge. He was firing with pinpoint accuracy at several drones near them. Two went down, and the third adapted. The team quickly turned and headed for us. I looked both ways, and saw that one direction seemed less populated than the other. Picard's team joined us, and we began to sprint in the direction of relative safety.

"How are we going to know where to go?" I asked. Picard looked at me midstride, a smile creeping to his face.

"I can hear them," he said. A thought popped into my mind, one that seemed to intone that a circle had just been completed. We were now going to use the worst thing that the Borg had done to Picard to destroy them forever. At least, I _hoped_ that was what was going to happen.

For several minutes, we ran like hell. I had hoped for a straight line, but Picard had us turning left and right so many times, partly to avoid thick groups of drones, and partly to get us where we needed to be.

"How much further," Tex panted beside me. I could tell that he still wasn't fully recovered from the injuries he'd suffered, and running was not easy for him. It wasn't exactly easy for me.

"We have about three kilometers to go," Picard said. At first I groaned inwardly, but then I realized that, comparitively, it wasn't really all that far. The sphere had to be the size of a small planet, and we just had to navigate one cube of it. And how Picard had known which cube to go to (since they were all separated by now) was amazing to me. In fact, it seemed odd that the cube that she was on would be the one we were able to beam onto. It was almost as if some unseen force had played a bit part in all of this. _Q_, I thought, trying to smile while panting for breath.

Three kilometers was no easy feat – it felt like ten. LaForge had been messing with a tricorder as we ran, and each time he did, we were able to get a few more shots off before the Borg drones adapted. Several times, it saved our skin.

It struck me that there seemed to be no doors on this ship. But, once I thought about it, it made perfect sense. The Borg had no need for privacy, so why have doors? It was comic thoughts like these that allowed me to ignore my protesting legs and lungs as we ran. Several times, I turned my head to check on the rest of my team. Everyone was keeping up, but Spock and Tex lagged toward the back, panting harder than the rest. At one point, we simply had to stop for a minute so that they wouldn't be lost behind us. Tex seemed ashamed, but Spock held his stoic pride. He was, after all, not a young man, even by Vulcan standards.

When we finally reached the outside of the Queen's chamber, we had to halt. Eight drones, who had been standing guard outside the chamber, immediately began walking toward us.

"Hold your fire," I said, and everyone looked at me in astonishment.

"What is it?" Picard asked. The drones were only thirty feet away; they would be upon us in mere moments.

"They're going to adapt before we can take them all out," I said. "So everyone needs to aim at a different drone, and we need to all fire at the same time." Picard's face lit up with a surprise that turned to hilarity.

"Excellent idea," he said. _Thank you multiplayer video games!_ I thought. We stood in a line, each of us aiming at a different drone.

"Fire," I said, and the eight drones went over like bowling pins. Without a word, we rushed to and over them, and into the chamber.

There were several drones in the chamber, already moving toward us. We tried to repeat the move we'd pulled on the others, but only four drones went down. There were still three of them coming toward us. Geordi was looking down at his tricorder, his fingers moving furiously. But it was not fast enough. The first of the drones reached us, and in an instant, a hand shot out and grabbed it by the neck. It was Spock's hand. He gripped the drone's throat so hard that it let out an audible popping sound as the windpipe was crushed. When he released the drone and it fell to the floor, there were imprints of his fingers. In a second, he was in front of us, dispatching the other three. He snapped the necks of the first two with quick, violent twisting motions. He shoved his palm into the third one's face, driving its nose deep into its brain. It went down as quickly as the others, twitching electrically as it did. I felt nauseous watching this, but it gave me a burst of positive adrenaline as well.

The drones were out of commission, but I knew that we'd have to hurry with what we needed to do, because more were undoubtedly on their way. It was imperative that we find the Queen, and decide what needed to be done about her as quickly as possible. We didn't have to wait long to see where we needed to go. The figure of the Queen slinked out from the darkness, and stood before us. Beside her, also appearing out of the darkness, were two other figures.

One was Prefect Valeris.

The other was Admiral Heaton.


	32. The Tie That Unbinds

Chapter 32

For a long moment, there was nothing but horrifying silence. It was like a disgusting, green-lit gunfight at high noon. I half expected a tumbleweed to blow across the warm metal floor. I licked my dry lips and stepped forward to stand next to Picard. Maybe we weren't equals, but at that moment, it felt like we were a united front. Finally, the silence was broken, by a voice from behind me.

"Cap'n, can we just kill this bitch an' get outta here?" Tex said. I wanted to turn and grin, but I was too scared to show them my back.

"Sounds like a good idea to me," Geordi said, and I could hear his fingers dancing across the tricorder.

"I'm glad you all could make it," the Queen said. "We've been expecting you."

"What?" I asked. "You mean…"

"Yes, of course I remember," she said. "His powers are almost completely gone now." She walked forward, swaying seductively. "Surely you didn't think that a mind as…ancient as mine would be so easy to manipulate."

Valeris stepped forward. One hand was behind her back, and in a swift motion she brought it forward, throwing two large objects at us. They flew across the room and landed, skidding across the floor until they were right in front of us. I looked down, and realized with a sudden nausea that they were the heads of Commander V'Eral and Admiral Shailin. Both of their faces wore faded looks of shock, their dried and sunken eyes wide, their cracked lips gaping in a silent scream of final terror.

"I found something you lost," she said simply. "I thought you might like them back. Unfortunately, I don't think they're quite in operable condition."

There was an audible sigh, and Spock stepped forward.

"Valeris," he said, "surely you realize by now that this cannot end favorably for you." She paused midstride, looking at him.

"Define 'favorably'," she said. Heaton stepped forward too, angry now.

"We don't have time for this. Just kill them, and let's get on with it!" Valeris put out an arm to stop him. Spock continued.

"Are you so blind that you think the Queen will simply let you walk away from this?" he said. "Do you not see that in the end of all of this, you will be enslaved along with the rest of the universe?"

Valeris laughed a little. It wasn't much, but coming from a Vulcan it was grotesque and terrifying. She moved forward, touching one hand to Spock's cheek. He stared forward at her – through her, his expression unmoved and unmoving.

"My dear Spock," she said, "of course I know what this means. You taught me the value of using logic to form my decisions. I expanded on that teaching, and allowed it to include accepting the inevitable."

"A wise decision," the Queen chimed in, " and one which will be rewarded. We will add her distinctiveness to our own, and she will never be alone again, as she was on the prison where you sent her to die." She came forward, further into the green light, and placed a hand on Valeris' shoulder. When she did, it was almost as if some kind of electric shock traveled from her hand, through Valeris' body, and into Spock's face. In a swift motion, he slapped the hand away and stepped back.

"What is it, Spock?" I asked. Spock shook his head, looking down and putting the palms of his hands up to his ears.

"He could hear us," the Queen said.

"Admiral Heaton," Picard said, his voice commanding and fierce. "You are in violation of Starfleet charters and treaties! You have committed treason, Admiral!"

"Spare me the court martial, Jean-Luc," Heaton said, lighting a cigar. "The Federation is done. Dead. It's over. Right now, the Borg are systematically destroying every starship in the fleet. It won't be long until the _Byzantium_ is the only one left."

"You underestimate the power of our fleet," Picard said, but I could tell from the sound of his voice that he didn't believe it.

"Oh, get over yourself!" Heaton said, swaggering forward and pointing his cigar in Picard's face. "The Federation hasn't had any true power since before the Dominion War." He cast a sideways look at the Queen, and I saw a subtle hint of unwanted – but unflinching – servility cross his face. "Even then," he continued, "they were no match for the Borg. They never have been."

"We've beaten them before," Picard replied, almost whispering now.

"Such a strong word, for such a simple act," the Queen intoned, pacing now. "You destroyed a few of our ships. Took out a single transwarp hub. Even snatched a few of us away from our search for perfection. This was not victory, Locutus. This was merely a delay of imminent defeat."

"What are you getting out of all this, Heaton?" I said, dropping the formality of his title. "I don't suppose that you're thinking_you_ will escape being either assimilated, or fried by Omega so the Borg can attain their precious perfection."

"Actually," the Queen answered for him, "he will." Heaton nodded his assent.

"The Borg, in their wisdom," he gave a slight nod to the Queen, "have seen fit to ensure that their new found power does not dwindle. The perfection that Omega will give them may last until eternity, but in the event that it doesn't, there will have to be new blood to quicken it. The crew of the _Byzantium_ and I will be spared, and we will thrive under the protection of the Borg. We will rebuild humanity, but we will rebuild it to serve a new master besides itself."

"How could you accept such terms?" Picard said, agape.

"It was inevitable," Heaton said, returning the cigar to his lips.

"No!" I shouted, raising my phaser and firing it at him. In a movement so fast I couldn't even see it happening, the Queen's hand raised to block the beam. It absorbed into her palm, which glowed briefly. Then it was gone.

She had stopped a phaser blast with just her hand.

"Now, now," she said. "I can't have you harming my new pet race."

"How did you do that?" I asked, staring first at her, then down at my phaser. She waved her hand in a way that looked familiar, and there was a bright flash next to us. It took a little longer than usual, but when it faded, we could see the crumpled form of Q. I put my phaser back at my side, and stared at him. He was on his knees, his head lolling from side to side. He slowly raised his head, looking at us. Something was rippling beneath his skin.

"What's wrong with him?" Picard asked.

"He is losing his power," the Queen answered. And then it made sense to me. His power – the power of the entire Q Continuum – was being drained into the Queen. She was beginning to take on their abilities.

"_Mon Capitaine_," Q said, his lips barely moving. "So…very good to…see you again."

"Q," Picard responded, his voice shaking now as I'd never heard it do before. "Q, you need to stop this damn game!" Q smiled weakly.

"I would, but it's…so much fun." He toppled forward, barely stopping his fall with his hands. His nose hung inches from the floor, and it looked as if he felt tremendous pain. It was at this moment that I realized our two groups were no longer alone. All around the room, drones were beginning to appear. They stood by silently, waiting for further orders from their Queen.

"Do you know why I brought you here?" the Queen asked him, placing the toe of her boot beneath his chin and raising his face to meet her gaze. "I wanted you to see the defeat of humanity in their eyes." She pointed at us. "I wanted you to look into the face of your precious Picard and see Locutus."

He slowly raised his chin off of her boot, hauling himself into a standing position. He closed his eyes briefly, and I could see the ripple of his skin subsiding. He was gathering his strength. He opened his eyes again, and looked at her, a smile playing across his lips.

"One of the greatest things the Borg possess," he said, "is a gift for underestimation."

With that, he lunged forward at the Queen, and their arms locked. The ripple in his skin returned, but it was in her skin as well. The energy within them suddenly welled up, spilling across the room in a bright wave that threatened to topple us over. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Heaton and Valeris backing up. Clearly, they had not anticipated this.

Neither had the Queen, it seemed. She cried out in pain as they struggled, the searing heat of their combined power sending up tufts of acrid smoke. Q said nothing, but his face conveyed a pain I could not begin to imagine. The energy between them grew brighter and brighter, and suddenly, it exploded outward.

Every drone in the room snapped its head up, intently looking at the Queen. Beside me, Picard's head did the same thing. His gaze became hollow, the fear suddenly drained from his eyes. He began to speak, but his voice was distant, as if detached somehow from his body.

"I am Locutus of Borg," he said, and my heart sank. _Not now!_ I thought. _That can't happen now!_

"I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the Federation," he continued, his voice the same monotone. That stopped me. _What?_ I thought. Slowly, his head turned – the way a drone's head turns, no movement of the rest of the body – and looked at me.

"Destroy the superstructure now, Captain. Resistance is futile."

I backed a couple of steps away from him, unsure of this new development. Q, his face in agony, shouted at me.

"Do it!" he yelled. "It's the only chance!"

Suddenly, I understood. Picard, despite long years of separation from the Borg, was still a part of them. But now Q was, too. I started to ask them how I was supposed to do that, when a familiar motion caught my eye. Heaton had dropped his cigar, then reached up and tapped his hand against his chest, activating the communicator. His face was frozen in horror, looking at the dazzling fight in front of him. I could barely hear him as he began to speak.

"Heaton to the Byzantium," he said, and I began to run. There wasn't a lot of space between us; maybe thirty feet or so. But it felt like an eternity.

"One to beam up," he said in slow motion. A Borg hand – belonging to one of the nearby drones – shot out and grabbed at me. But I was running too fast by now, and my uniform merely ripped, a small section of it remaining in its hand as I flew past.

"Energize!" As he said it, my body slammed into his. The interior of the Borg ship twinkled in static briefly, then disappeared.

* * *

Inertia is an amazing thing. The moment we reappeared on the transporter pad of the _Byzantium_, I suspect the last thing the transporter chief had expected to happen was that we would fly across the room, slam against the top of the transporter controls and shatter them, then bowl him over.

But that was exactly what happened.

I heard the sound of the control board shattering, the discharge of energy as it shorted out. I even heard the sudden expulsion of air from the lungs of the transporter chief as we knocked the wind out of him. He fell back, his head smashing up against the wall behind him with an audible cracking sound. He was out cold before he even began to fall.

Only at this moment did time seem to return to normal, and the three of us slid to the floor. The transporter chief was down for the count, but it only took a moment for me to realize that Heaton wasn't quite. He struggled beneath me, then shoved me off of him with his massive arms. I flew backward, wobbling on my bent knees for a moment before falling on my ass. Heaton rose, fury in his eyes. I began to scramble back, trying to get far enough away to stand up.

But it was too late for that. He had grabbed one of the long pieces of glass (or was it transparent aluminum? I wasn't sure), and was raising it above his head. He had the advantage of being close, and I knew I could never get away before he brought the sharp weapon down into me. In a moment, I reached for my phaser and, without even taking time to aim, fired.

I had forgotten that it was set on "kill", but I remembered very suddenly as the blast hit him in the chest. His face went pale and his eyes widened for a moment. Then they rolled back up inside his head, and he fell dead to the floor.

I wanted to feel remorse. I truly did. My fight was not with people; it was with the Borg. I wanted to think that I had not lost some sensitive part of myself. But as I looked at his crumpled body, lifeless before me, I realized that I felt nothing.

With a cold calculation I had not known I possessed, I looked around at the room. No one was in here except for me, the unconscious transporter chief, and Heaton's body. But I knew that they would come, and probably in short order. I went over to a wall panel and consulted a still-functioning screen. The ship was huge! The bridge was still eighteen decks above me.

I knew that subterfuge would never get me up there, and I wasn't even sure what I would do _if_ I got up there, but I also knew that I had to destroy the superstructure. Mentally, I began trying to figure out what needed to be done to accomplish this. First, I had to figure out where this ship was at in relation to the superstructure. I knew that it had to be close, and that it was probably somewhere inside the expanding sphere. The other thing I needed to do was find a way to gain control of the ship. That was going to be more difficult.

"Computer," I said, hoping the first part of my plan would work, "recognize command authorization Allen four-two-seven theta." There was an eternal second while the computer processed.

"Command authorization confirmed," the computer replied.

"Computer," I said again, "lock the door."

"Door locked," the computer responded.

"Well," I said to no one in particular, "that's a start."

Suddenly, the transporter pads lit up, and three shapes appeared. Before I could even raise my phaser in defense, the shimmering cleared, and I could see the faces of Geordi, Tex, and Julie. I smiled.

"How did you get here?" I asked. Geordi held up his tricorder. It was explanation enough for me; the man was a genius, and I should have known that he would be keeping a constant fix on everyone's postion.

"Where is the rest of the away team?" I asked, offering a hand to Julie as she stepped off the transporter.

"They're still on the Borg cube, waiting for the fight to end," Geordi said, fear in his voice. "I tried to get Captain Picard to join us, but he wouldn't budge. So the others stayed with him."

"I see," I said. This was a problem. Now, even if we could get to the bridge and destroy the superstructure, Picard and the rest of the away team would have no way to get off of the Borg ship in time. To say nothing of Q. Who knew whether or not _he_ could be killed at this point.

"I've locked the door," I said. Geordi nodded, immediately raising his tricorder up and pointing it at the wall.

"We need to get to the bridge," he said simply. It was just one sentence, but in it I could hear the pain. He knew what was going to happen to the rest of the team, too. But he also knew we didn't have a choice.

"Agreed," I said. "How do you suggest we do that?" Geordi smiled.

"If you locked the door, then you should already know," he replied. Then it hit me.

"Computer," I said, "initiate emergency site-to-site transfer of the four of us to the bridge."

Once again, everything around us disappeared, and we found ourselves on the bridge of the _Byzantium_.


	33. The Big Goodbye Part One

There were only six people on the bridge. I suppose I should have been happy about that, but I wasn't. They outnumbered us two-to-one. However, we did have the advantage in that we were readily armed. None of the wide-eyed officers looking at us seemed to be near a phaser.

"Everyone back away slowly from their stations," I said. "Hands up."

Captain Harker stood and peered down the end of my phaser. He was in his mid-thirties, I guessed, with close-cut black hair and the faint hint of a beard. His eyes blazed at me, conveying the message that he had no intention of doing whatever it was I was going to ask him to do.

"Computer," he said, "lock out…"

It was all he got out before I shot him. He fell to the deck, dead as the admiral that had commanded him. This got the attention of the remaining five officers. Clearly, they had not anticipated lethal force. They raised their hands higher, and moved a step further away from their panels.

"Computer," I said, continuing for the fallen traitor, "accept emergency command transfer, Captain Michael Allen."

"Command transfer completed," the computer chimed.

"Re-route all command functions to the bridge, and lock out the main computer except to bridge terminals. And seal off the bridge."

The computer chimed again, indicating these things had been done. I turned to the remaining bridge crew.

"What is your mission?" I asked. I didn't expect them to tell me the truth, but I didn't want to kill them for no reason, either. I was surprised at the answer I got.

"Our mission is to survive the Borg conquest, and rebuild humanity," a young officer said. His companions gave him sharp looks, but I smiled at him.

"Thank you," I said. "Is the entire crew aware of this mission?"

"Yes," the young man answered. "We've known for about two months. That's why we've been on radio silence."

"I see," I said, frowning. He had given me the information I needed to know. The entire crew compliment of this vessel – thousands of people – had been in on the plot with Heaton. Maybe some of them weren't in on it willingly, but enough of them must have been, since there had been no mutiny. "I want all of you to go into the Ready Room," I said. They looked frightened as they went, and when their backs were turned to me, I set my phaser to _stun_. Let them think I was going to kill them, I mused. Once they were inside, I stunned all five of them, one at a time. They slumped over each other on the floor. If the ship survived, then perhaps so would they. At this point, I didn't much care what happened to them. I returned to the bridge, and my three companions had each taken stations.

"Our orders, Captain?" Julie said. I looked at her face, scuffed and battle-weary, but lovely nonetheless.

"We need to find out where we're at, exactly," I said. Geordi looked down at his tactical screen.

"According to this, Captain, we're in the center of the sphere, about twelve hundred kilometers from the superstructure."

"On screen," I said. He tapped a button, and the image of the sphere popped into view. We were very close to the cubes, which by now had grown very far apart from one another. From where we sat, I could see Earth very near the sphere; it had almost expanded enough to engulf the planet on the closest end. In the center of the sphere, glowing brighter than ever, was the superstructure that we needed to destroy. I noticed, as we flew past cube after cube, that none of them was firing at us. That was good. The Queen was obviously too busy fighting with Q to give any orders right now, and the Borg had that nasty habit of only attacking something they felt was a threat. Thus the superstructure was ours for the taking, it seemed. As we drew nearer to it, I could finally see the its actual form behind the glow. It appeared to be nothing more aesthetic than a gigantic suspended column, having that same patchwork metal quality that all materials made by the Borg had. I remembered the Queen's tale, and immediately I connected the dots. This pillar, which had been the birth of the Borg, would now represent the sword of its final conquest over everything in every universe. It was the final point of convergence for every quantum reality that had ever and would ever exist.

We had to destroy it.

"Does it have any shielding around it?" I asked. Geordi looked down for a moment, then back up at me. His crystal-blue mechanical eyes held disappointment, and I knew I wasn't going to like the answer.

"Like nothing I've ever seen," he said.

I refused to accept the answer at first. I looked at him, then at the structure, then back at him.

"That's it?" I said. "Isn't there some way to penetrate them?" Geordi shook his head.

"Not anything I can tell," he replied. There was a thick silence, then Tex spoke up.

"What if we ram it? The way we tried to earlier?" he asked.

"Maybe," Geordi said, tapping at the console. "But I don't think so."

"You're telling me that thing will sustain a warp core breach?" I asked, astounded.

"I think it would. What's worse, we're too close to Earth to do that. If the breach penetrated the shields on the superstructure, then maybe it would absorb enough of the impact and keep from damaging the planet. But if they don't…" he trailed off.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, we'll do more damage to the planet than _they_ have," he said.

Fine. So that was out. Now what?

"Cap'n!" Tex half said – half shouted. I looked up, and immediately saw his cause for concern. Six _Scimitar_-class vessels had just decloaked on the far side of the sphere, and were headed our way. The Bek'Tal had finally decided to join the fight.

"They're powering up weapons," Julie said.

"Shields!" I said. "Mr. Newman, get us as close to that thing as possible. If we can dodge a few of their shots and weaken the shields on the superstructure at the same time, let's do it."

"Aye, Cap'n," Tex said, his voice now quieter, but thick with tension. On the screen, I could see that we were veering to port, headed for the giant glowing pillar.

The first volley hit us, but not hard. This ship was, after all, a floating city, and it would take a significant beating before having any real problems.

"Return fire!" I said. "Phasers and quantum torpedoes!"

The_Byzantium_ released a volley of torpedoes at the approaching ships, which danced across the lancing beams of phaser fire at their targets. Several of them hit the mark. The rest either veered off into space, or were fortunate enough to hit one of the cubes that had pock-marked this region of space.

"Be careful to keep our course from putting us between them and Earth," I said. I didn't want my plan to backfire on me.

"Aye, Cap'n," Tex said distractedly. He was concentrating on avoiding the next few shots from the Bek'Tal.

We were hit again, and this time the bridge shook a little. But some of the shots went wild, missing us and raking the shields of the superstructure. I was happy for that, but not so happy about being hit.

"Damage report!" I said.

"Ventral shields down to ninety-six percent and holding, Captain," Geordi said with some satisfaction. "She's a beast, all right."

"Yeah, well let's hope that's enough against six of them."

Somewhere on the bridge, I heard a chirp.

"We're being hailed, Captain," Julie said. I looked at her.

"On screen," I said, bewildered.

Weston's face appeared.

"Captain," she said, "I've signaled the fleets on both sides. Hold on, because we're coming in to help out."

Once again, the surge of pride filled me, threatening to bring tears to my eyes.

"Excellent work, Commander. Remind me to recommend your promotion when this is over."

"Thanks, Captain. I look forward to that. Weston out."

She disappeared from the screen, and once again I could see the six ships charging us.

"The fleets are moving in," Julie said, then looked up at me. "There are four hundred and thirty-two ships coming into firing range. I smiled.

"We just might win this one yet," I said hopefully, praying that I wasn't somehow jinxing the whole thing by saying it.

It was a tremendous thing to watch. In less than thirty seconds, every single Reman ship was blasted into oblivion by far more firepower than would have been necessary under any condition. The fleets stood between the Bek'Tal and Earth, so the blossoming shockwaves of their individual explosions were absorbed by the combined shielding of every starship. In that moment, I knew that we were somehow unbeatable. That unlike the Borg, there was far more to us than simple technology. There was a resilience to us that permeated our frail structures.

As if in response to this small victory, however, things began turning sour again almost immediately.

The first unfortunate thing that happened was that the glow around the pillar grew stronger, so strong I had to turn away from it while the screen adjusted for the intensity.

"What's happening to it?" I asked, squinting as I looked forward again.

"The Omega field is gaining intensity," Geordi said, panick in his voice. "I think we're looking at about eight minutes, Captain."

The second unfortunate thing that happened was that the cubes – all of them – began firing at us.

No mental calculation was required to let me know that four hundred and thirty-two medium-sized ships and one giant ship were still no match for several thousand larger ships. Besides, it was too late in the game to start mentally calculating things, anyway.

"Hard to port!" I yelled, feeling the slight pitch of the bridge as we swung about. "Keep us in orbit of that thing, and keep firing at it! At the first sign of those shields collapsing, prepare to launch everything we have at it, and ram the bastard if we need to!"

No one said anything, not even an "aye, Captain". That was because they didn't need to. We had entered the maelstrom, and like the winds of hell the fury of the Borg now lashed at us. We were hit, over and over, and each time I thought it would be the final one.

But our shields were holding, miraculously. I had just enough time to contemplate that if the Borg cubes were firing at us now, it might mean that Q had lost his struggle to the Queen. No, I wouldn't allow myself to believe that. Not yet. Perhaps she merely had gained a foothold. I was in the middle of hoping that Picard and the others were all right, when I was uprooted from my chair and thrown across the room. I slammed into the far wall, feeling the wind rush out of me as I slumped to the floor. Unconsciousness threatened to take me, but I fought it, choosing instead to focus my attention on the simple tasks of getting back up, and breathing.

"What the hell was that?" I asked in a wheeze, as soon as I was able to say anything at all.

"Collision with another ship," came Geordi's reply. That made sense; the quarters were too close in here, and our ships were too many. Our one tactical advantage had just worked against us. I didn't want to ask the question, but I had no choice.

"Damage?" I said. Geordi looked up at me with concern.

"It's bad, Captain. We've lost a quarter of the primary hull, with hull breaches on decks six through twenty. Forcefields are in place, but our forward shielding is gone."

"Can you get it back up?" I asked. Geordi shook his head sadly.

I looked at the viewscreen for a long moment. One by one, the ships that comprised our joined fleets were being incinerated by the Borg weapons. It was only a matter of time before we would join them. The dreadful silence of space was lit with a fireworks show that ought to have been heard across entire systems, but wasn't. Somehow it seemed wrong that all of those fine people should die without the benefit of being able to send one last curse of hatred all the way to the ears of their murderers.

In that heartbeat, I knew what I had to do. It wasn't a burst of inspiration; there was no proverbial turning on of the light bulb. Rather, something that had always nestled itself in the heroic part of my imagination, simply awaiting the day it would activate, did.

"Hail the _Ascension_," I said.

"Channel open," Julie said.

"Commander Weston, what is your status?"

"Not bad so far, Captain. We've got thirty percent damage to our shields, but they're holding. Casualties are…"

"That will do, Commander," I said. "You will find that there are four of us on the bridge of the _Byzantium_."

"Aye, sir. We're picking you up."

"Good. Beam the other three out." I reached down and terminated the transmission.

"What?!" the three of them said in tandem, staring at me.

I looked at Julie for what I knew would be the last time. The tears came again, and this time I let them.

"I'm sorry, Julie," I said.

She tried to protest, but was swept away in the transporter beam with the other two.

I immediately turned back to the viewscreen. "Computer," I said, "tie all remaining functions into the helm, and open a channel to the fleet." There was an audible chirp, indicating that I had been piped in.

"This is Captain Michael Allen, piloting the _Byzantium_. I'm taking this ship into the superstructure. Maneuver your fleets to intercept the shockwave; try to give Earth as much protection as possible." I didn't wait for any replies, but as I cut the transmission, I could see the ships veering off and heading toward Earth. At that moment, the ship was rocked again, this time by several blasts. The red alert klaxon, which had not stopped since I had been on this ship, seemed to grow louder.

"Warning," the computer said, "hull breaches on decks twenty-eight through thirty. Warp core breach in progress."

"Just hold out long enough for one last run, baby," I said, patting the controls. I set the ship for full impulse, aiming at the white-hot superstructure. It would only take seconds for me to get there; I hoped the warp core would last that long. For that matter, how long did we have left before the device went off? I wasn't sure, but I hoped it was more than a few seconds.

They say that your life flashes before your eyes right before you die. Mine didn't, but I think that was for the best. If it had, I think I might have reconsidered what I was doing, and tried to leave with the excuse of "having too much to live for". Instead, I was merely filled with a peaceful sense of accomplishing my duty. My thoughts didn't even travel so far as to think that it would all soon be over. They just took a backseat and let my fingers do the thinking for them.

The few seconds passed, and I was suddenly face to face with the dazzlingly bright harbinger of my doom. If there is such a thing as becoming one with an object, I surely did so at that moment with the ship I was on. I could almost feel the initial struggle of the tritanium hull against the crackling shields, then the scream of metal against metal as the shields gave out, ship and pillar interlocking in a deadly embrace. I could see the hulking slab approaching me, and as it did, the light around it disappeared to a mere pinprick that was barely visible.

But then I realized that I _had_ been too late, after all. Because that pinprick suddenly exploded outward, spraying the cosmos with a ripple of energy so pure that it seemed made of perfection.

And then everything went white.


	34. The Big Goodbye Part Two

Everything remained white.

If there had been a floor, walls, or a ceiling where I was (or was not), they would have all been white.

Even after I made this observation, everything continued to be white.

I would have stood, or at least sat, but I wasn't entirely sure I if I was laying down. I felt no tug of gravity in any particular direction, but I didn't seem to be floating either. I simply _was_, and everything was white.

A voice, its waves so strong against the white all around me that they were nearly a visible contrast to it, came from…somewhere in the white.

"Are you hurt, Mike?" the voice said, and I thought it was a pretty strange thing to say to a dead man (after all, I was fairly certain that I was dead). But it also occurred to me that I knew that voice, and that hearing a voice you're familiar with after you've just died is probably a good thing.

So I smiled a little, feeling the muscles of my face stretch out, pressing against the almost tangible white.

"Fine, I think," I said, mentally checking myself for pain. I found none, but then, that was to be expected, what with me being dead and all.

"Good. Keep talking; I'm going to try to follow your voice." It was Picard, I realized. How odd to find him here with me in the afterlife. Then I realized, _he must have died too_. That was rather sad, but at the same time it was a very nice thought. I could think of worse people to spend eternity around, I supposed.

"Sorry I got you killed," I said into the white. There was a second or two of silence.

"I don't think we're dead, Mike. At least, not yet."

That was a new thought. I remembered seeing the pillar of the superstructure explode before my eyes, remembered that the ship I was on was in the process of vaporizing itself and everything around it.

"Just how exactly are we not dead?" I asked. It seemed like a fair question.

"Well," came the reply, closer now, "for one thing, I'm here, and I seem to be the only other person in your otherwise secluded afterlife."

"Maybe I'm hallucinating you," I said, wondering if it were possible to hallucinate after one's death.

"Please," a new voice said, "enough with the mindless drivel."

Some of the white disappeared, and was replaced by the form of a throne.

And on that throne sat Q.

Seemingly from nowhere within the white, Picard suddenly came into view as well. We stood at the foot of Q's throne, looking askance at him for a few seconds. He seemed to be examining his fingernails, though he wore gloves. Finally he looked at us.

"You're not dead," he said. "Well, not exactly, anyway…"

"Then _where_ are we?" Picard asked, looking around for something – anything – besides the white.

"Why, _mon capitaine_, you are where every drone seeks to be but can never get to. You are inside the mind of the Queen."

His words fell like lead on us, cryptic as they were. A flood of thoughts rushed into my head, clearing up the haze that I had been in. I was still alive – _we_ were still alive. Somehow, we had been spared sudden death.

"What about Earth? Everyone else?" Picard asked.

"All gone now," he said simply. "Replaced with the Borg idea of perfection." Both Picard and I sank to our knees. The moment we had both feared had come, and while we had survived it, we had still lost the battle.

"Oh get up!" Q said, interrupting our sorrow. "Come on now, you've done the hardest part, which is getting here. Everything has gone exactly as planned."

"What?" Picard said. "What do you mean? Do you mean that you _knew_ that Omega was going to be a success?" Q nodded. Picard cried out. "Then why, Q?! Why let all those people die?"

Q stood from his throne and began pacing between us.

"Think back, Jean-Luc. That temporal anomaly problem I gave you. What did you learn from it?" He stared at Picard, who fumbled for several seconds before answering.

"You…you taught us to think outside the normal parameters of time."

"Yes," Q said, prodding. "More specifically…" he said. I spoke up.

"You taught them that time can flow backwards as well as forwards."

"Precisely," Q said. "And now I'm telling you that it can flow in a circular pattern as well, or back and forth, or in pretty much any direction it wants. Cause and effect is merely a poor description for a completely misunderstood science, _mon capitaine_. Believe it or not, it's actually better to say that everything happens for a reason, because it's a more accurate way to look at it."

"I don't follow," Picard said.

"Nothing new there," Q replied. "Look, Picard, Omega had to succeed because you had to end up here so that it will never succeed. Does that make sense?"

Both of us shook our heads no. Q smiled.

"I thought not." He sighed. "I've waited a long time to have to say this, Jean-Luc. My powers are almost completely gone now. You've noticed it happening, and you saw it culminating with the struggle back on the cube. The Queen was draining the power of the Q Continuum, but the fact is that this is the moment in history when we're _supposed_ to get weaker." He peered first at Picard, then at me, then back at Picard. Seeing our blank looks, he threw up his hands and gave an exasperated sigh.

"We're being _born_," he said.

"What?" I replied, as if I had not just heard the words come out of his mouth.

"This is our birth, the birth of the Q Continuum. From here, we will exist into the future and into the past. We will exist so far into the past, in fact, that in our final act in that temporal direction, we will some day cause the birth of the Borg by casting them off of their world and onto a random planet that we won't even have taken the time to investigate first.

"In the middle of the fight with the Queen, I used the very last of my strength to bring you here, Picard. As of this moment, I and the rest of the Q are completely powerless."

"So why am I here?" I asked. Q looked at me, smirking.

"Well, if you believe in fate, then that's probably the best answer you'll find. After all, you triggered the device, so it only stands to reason that you would be the first to experience the effect of Omega, an effect so strong that it brought you here with us."

"Q," Picard said, "just exactly _why_ did you bring me here?" Q stopped pacing, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Because," he said, "I need to you to finish what you started. You see, in the grand scheme of the universe, the Q are the opposing charge to the Borg. They represent a skewed kind of perfection, and we represent the harsh reality. We are a balance for them. Just as their birth will some day be the undoing of us, our birth must now be the undoing of them. Of course, the difference between us and them is that they only have the option of existing in one temporal direction. We will go on, both into the past and into the future, possibly without end. Who knows?"

"This is all extremely confusing," Picard said, "but that aside, what do I need to do?"

"It's simple," Q said in his usual condescending tone. "You're inside the mind of the Queen now, and you have unlimited power. Destroy that mind, and you destroy the Borg."

"But she'll just come back again," I said. "She always does."

"No," Q said. "Her body comes back. That is not the same thing. The mind that body carries has survived since the beginning of the Borg. Only by destroying it will you be able to finish this, and return your universe – to say nothing of all the other universes – to normal."

"How do I do it?" Picard asked. Q laughed. Not a mere chuckle, either. No, he laughed for at least a full minute, as if Picard had said something so funny that, every time he tried to straighten up, he would remember again and double back over. Finally, wiping tears from his eyes, he was able to calm himself.

"_Mon capitaine_," he said. "You are _inside_ the mind of the Queen. You have the power of Omega at your fingertips. Just…do it," he said. Picard looked puzzled, but turned toward the whiteness. He raised his hands slightly, as if about to cast some sort of spell, but then dropped them again, looking like he felt foolish.

"Borg Queen," he said in an authoritative voice, "this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the _Enterprise_. Show yourself!"

The white peeled back again, this time to reveal a gigantic face. It was not the face of the Borg Queen as we had known her. No, this was a fixture of the grotesque and macabre, a rotting corpse of a face with things crawling through and around the spaces where skin should have been. This was how, deep down inside of herself where she thought no one could see, the Queen saw her ancient self.

The face radiated hatred at us, particularly at Picard, who by this time had shrunk back from the horrifying image a few paces. It opened its mouth, revealing two rows of jagged, broken yellow teeth. I realized that this was not merely a visual illusion; I could _smell_ her breath. It smelled of thousands of years of rotting decay.

"You!" the ancient voice creaked out of her like a rusty hinge. "What are _you_ doing here?!"

Picard held his ground now, and even stepped forward at the face.

"I am here to kill you!" he screamed at the face. It went pale, as if suddenly realizing that it had no possible chance of escaping what was about to happen.

"Go away!" it shrieked, the fear etching across its sickening face. Picard kept stepping forward at it, driving it back with every step. He shouted each word slowly now.

"I…am…Locutus…of…Borg…" the shrieking became louder now.

"No!" she screamed. "Go away!"  
"Resistance…is…_not_…futile!"

"Leave me alone!" Still the horrendous screaming.

"I…want…you…to…die!" he shouted, holding the final word out as a scream until all the air had left his lungs, and he collapsed to his knees.

The shrieking reached its peak, the sound so terrifyingly loud that it vibrated my entire body as I watched. Slowly, the face that represented the ancient mind of the Queen began to split itself into pieces. The pieces separated slowly at first, and then with her final scream they exploded into dust and disappeared.

Picard sat on his knees, struggling for air. I went to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. He waved me off, indicating that he would be fine. There was a sound behind us, and we both turned to see a bright light glowing on the throne. Finally, it disappeared, and all that was left was Q. He smiled wanly.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" he said. Then he stretched his arms out as if he had just been awakened from a deep sleep. Energy crackled along his fingertips as he did.

"We…we did it?" I asked, looking at Picard. He was dazed, too.

"Yes, you took care of the pesky Borg problem, and in the process, you helped found the Q Continuum. That must make you awfully proud!" He stood up suddenly, walking over to Picard and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I guess this means that in a way, you're now my dad, _mon capitaine_," he said with a completely serious face. I expected Picard to get annoyed, but he was still too shocked by what had just happened.

"So that's it?" he said. "No more Borg?"

"No more Borg," Q replied. "You've done your duty."

"Then where are we now?" I asked. Q looked at me, then looked around at the still-white nothingness.

"Oh, this?" he said. "It's nothing; just a place I like to come to and hide out from time to time."

"Then we can return to our ships?" Picard asked, hopeful. "Everything is back to normal?"

"As normal as your species is ever going to get, I'm afraid," Q said gleefully. He snapped his fingers, and we were gone from the horrible whiteness.


	35. The End to the Means

Chapter 35 

The first thing I expected when I saw Julie – and the rest of my crew – again, was for her to rush up and embrace me.

The last thing I expected was for her to rush up and slap me, and _then_ embrace me.

There was an awkward silence on the bridge for a moment, broken only by her muffled sobs into my shoulder. Finally, Tex stood.

"Cap'n, what happened?" he said.

"What do you mean, what happened?" I asked. "We won; we beat the Borg."

"I think what he is asking," said a voice behind me, "is how did you get back aboard the _Ascension_?" I turned my head to the voice. It was Spock. His uniform was covered in green blood that didn't seem to be his own. _Valeris_, I thought, almost sadly. I would have to ask him about that, but now didn't seem the time.

"Captain," Weston said, continuing for Spock, "the last thing we saw was the _Byzantium _crashing into the superstructure. Then there was an explosion which nearly tore us and the rest of the fleets apart. And now here we are, a few minutes later, and you've just appeared on the bridge. Is there an explanation for this?"

I let go of Julie with a sigh, and stepped forward. It was only at this moment that the weariness hit me. I didn't know how long it had been since I had slept, or even truly rested. But that step forward nearly cost me my dignity, as I almost toppled to the floor. I clambered over and into my chair, releasing a hiss of air as I plopped myself down.

"I was there," I said. "I was inside the mind of the Queen." Shocked looks were all I saw around me.

"An' you destroyed it?" Tex asked.

"No," I said. "Picard did."

"He was there, too?" Weston asked. I nodded.

"I'll make a full report on it," I said, then added, "and we'll talk about it later. What's our status?" Weston came around to her chair and sat down in it next to me.

"We're down for the count, Captain. That blast took everything out of us, and we're just barely holding on to life support at the moment." It was only when she said this that I took the time to look around my bridge. It was torn apart. Smoke issued out of several places where circuits had overheated. Panels had fallen from the ceiling, crashing into various instrument arrays and scattering dusty fragments all over the floor.

"Casualties?" I asked. Weston looked down.

"We had hull breaches on several decks," she said. "We lost thirty-four crewmen, I'm afraid."

That was a blow. When you win a battle, you're supposed to feel victorious and deliriously happy. And we most certainly had won. On the viewscreen, I could see that the thousands of Borg cubes were no longer moving or firing, the crackling bolts of energy that had held them together gone. They were being blown apart by what was left of the fleet – no sense taking chances.

But my feeling of victory was tainted. I had lost thirty-four people in this battle alone. And who knew how many had died in total? I groaned, not even wanting to think about it. Suddenly, my will to think was gone.

"What now?" I asked. I did not anticipate the action that followed. Tex stood up, walked over to my chair, and pressed a button on my armrest. He had activated the ship's intercom. It was a two-way connection, because I could hear the bustle of hundreds of people suddenly stop.

"Attention, crew!" he said. "I jus' wanted to let y'all know that as of this moment, Cap'n Allen's returned from beatin' the livin' shit out of the Borg!"

He had hardly finished when the speakers erupted in a static discharge of applause and cheering. The noise was overwhelming, and I had to reach down and lower the volume instantly. But the effect was complete; my eyes watered, and I emitted something between a triumphant laugh and a sob. Tex began to clap, and was soon joined by the rest of the bridge crew. Even Julie, whose intentions toward me were somewhat difficult to gauge at the moment, applauded through tears.

I felt the compulsion to address my crew, and despite the exhaustion, I rose to do so.

"Men and women of the _Ascension_," I said, hearing the echo of my own voice over the intercom, "this is your captain speaking. What Mr. Newman has just told you is true. The Borg are defeated, and this _is_ a great day for the Federation. But he was only half right. It was not I who defeated the Borg today. It was _us_. I'd like to thank each and every one of you personally for what you've done here, and I hope that I get the opportunity to do so. I think that it goes without saying that we are witnessing the birth of a new era, ladies and gentlemen. Years from now, when I am old and gray, telling stories to my grandchildren," I looked at Julie hopefully, "I think that the story they're going to want to hear most will be about the time that I fought with the bravest, best crew in the whole Federation. The day that we entered the final battle against the Borg and walked away the victors.

"A lot of good people died today to prove that resistance is _not_ futile. Let us now honor their memory by _doing something_ with that resistance. We're going to rebuild this mighty Federation of ours, and I hope that while I'm doing my part of that, I can continue to have the honor and the privelege of working side-by-side with such excellent people as all of you."

I cut the transmission, and everyone on the bridge clapped again. I supposed that it was a formality to do so under such circumstances, but it didn't feel very formal. Furthermore, although I didn't know it until later, it seemed pretty informal that the applause across the expanse of the _Ascension_ did not die down for several long minutes after I ended my little speech.

"Our orders, Captain?" Weston asked, and everyone looked at me.

"Take us home," I said.

* * *

Starfleet was a buzz of activity, and for the next day and a half, I did nothing but go to meetings. There were casualty reports – initial estimates had been in the low billions, counting Romulus and Earth, but more reports flooded in every hour, and more and more it seemed that we would be looking at tens of billions or more. I was in horrified awe of this number. Despite all of my involvement in the war (which was the subject of another plethora of meetings), I had not seen anywhere near the bulk of the actual battle engagements. There was no initial estimate as to the Borg's losses, and there never would be a full report on it, since no one knew for certain if all the Borg ships had been in the battle or not. Some feared that this might mean the Borg were not gone forever. It was never decided on for sure, but in the end the concensus was that if some small portion of the Borg _had_ survived, it would be several millenia before they could ever become a power again. Those who were not so sure of this got permission from Starfleet to launch investigations into the matter. Enough Borg technology had been saved to open a new scientific era on its own, so these people found themselves with plenty to keep them occupied.

I met with Picard briefly on a couple of occasions. We barely had time to talk to each other, but he told me that Q had visited him again. I asked what he had wanted, and Picard told me with a smile that he had "just wanted to let us know he wasn't finished with humanity yet".

I also met with Spock. I asked him tentatively about what had happened with Valeris. He did not deign to talk about it much, but merely told me that what had to be done, had been done. I sensed that it was going to be some time before he recovered from his actions.

The most difficult thing that I had to do was return home – to my original home and time. We (that is, Julie and myself) took Jerry's body with us. His parents took the news fairly well, considering the amazing story that I had to tell them. I helped them bury their son, and I remember spending a long time alone at his graveside, talking to him. I told him that he had not died in vain; that we had been victorious. That I had "gotten" them for him. I laughed a little and cried a lot, and eventually I said goodbye and walked away.

I spent nearly a month back in my own time, trying to explain things to my parents, finding ways to gently sever my ties to the rest of the world. I never went back to my job. I supposed I was pretty easy to replace. Part of me didn't want to leave this place, but the rest of me knew that it was no longer my home. That it would never be my home again. I told my parents that I would try to visit them, but secretly I knew that I probably never would. The tie with my reality was broken, and a new one had grown to take its place.

* * *

It was the last day that I spent in my time. Julie and I were sitting on a beach – much as we had done frequently when we had first met. The sun was setting, and we were enjoying the salty air as day succumbed to the wooing temptation of night. We hadn't seen each other much lately, since we'd been off doing our own things, and it was nice to just hold each other and listen to the seagulls.

"I'm going back tomorrow," I said. She nestled her head on the nape of my neck, errant strands of hair brushing against me in the breeze.

"Yeah, me too," she said. "I don't think my family really believed me, but I guess they will when I don't show up anymore." She smiled at me, and I laughed.

"Mine, too," I said. We were silent for a while. It was nice.

"So what do you think will become of us?" Julie asked.

"Do you mean us as people, or us as a couple?" I asked, looking into her eyes and grinning.

"Either one," she said, kissing me lightly. I thought for a long moment.

"Dunno," I said, and laughed. She laughed with me, a beautiful, melodious sound.

It was true. I didn't know what was going to happen.

And as far as I was concerned, that was just fine.


	36. Blue Skies

Chapter 36

Warm sunshine dappled through the trees, casting an ever-moving, leafy shadow across the stone table. A cool breeze whisked through the courtyard of the newly-built Chateau Picard, sending sideways ripples across the wine in my raised glass.

"It has good color," Picard said from across the table.

"That's high praise coming from the vintner," I said, sniffing lightly at the wine. Picard sipped at his glass.

"Well, it's certainly not egotism; the flavor makes up for the color," he said with an off-put expression.

"It just needs a little age to season it," I said, taking a drink from my glass. "Still, it comes from good grapes, and it's a good wine." He looked at me, and I could see that he got the deeper meaning.

"You know, Mike, I think I'm going to miss cleaning up after your messes," he said with a smile.

"Captain…Jean-Luc, I want you to know that it's been an honor and a pleasure serving with you."

"At the risk of sounding cliché, Mike, the pleasure has been all mine. And there's something else I've been thinking about lately."

"What's that?" I asked.

"I owe you an apology, Mike. It occurred to me that the intrusion of your time upon ours was not nearly as unethical as the intrusion of_our_ time upon yours. At least you came to this world invited," he said.

"Jean-Luc, the visionaries in your time gave the people in mine something far greater in return than just a chance to join in a fight against the Borg. They gave us hope. For forty years, their work inspired a lot of people to do a lot of wonderful things. It gave generations of men and women a chance to expand their horizons. Ultimately, it was a lot more than just a television show on _both_ ends of the multiverse."

"That may be, Mike, but the way that it happened was still not ethical. The right thing at the wrong time or for the wrong reason is still the wrong thing. And despite the fact that I was not personally responsible for the Federation's actions, I am a representative for everything that they do, and therefore I owe you an apology. At the very best, I was too harsh on you and your companions."

"Apology accepted, Jean-Luc. I suppose that I could have been a little less impetuous at times. It might have made things easier, don't you think?" I asked. Picard just smiled.

"I doubt that you would have made good captain material otherwise, Mr. Allen. Tell me, what are your plans now?"

I sipped at my wine. Picard was right; it was not very good.

"I'm being put back into active duty."

"Demoted?" Picard asked, a tinge of pity in his voice.

"Surprisingly, no. The _Ascension_ has been repaired, and is scheduled to leave Spacedock in just a few days. Starfleet has elected to grant me a continuation of my captaincy…with a few conditions. Most of my crew, including the newly appointed Commander Weston, will be from this time," I said. Picard chuckled.

"They made Weston your first officer?"

"Starfleet feels that she will…keep me in line," I said. Picard's laughter echoed in the surrounding walls of the chateau. Slowly, his mirth warmed into a sort of sage-like quality.

"Consider yourself lucky, Mike. You're about to embark on a voyage that will take you much further than just the stars. That crew is your family now, and the adventures you have together are just the glue that binds you. What goes on _inside_ that ship will mean so much more to you than anything that goes on outside of it."

Suddenly, my comm badge chirped.

_"Ground Control to Captain Allen,"_ a voice said. I tapped the badge.

"Allen here."

_"Captain, your presence is requested at Starfleet Headquarters immediately. Your final debriefing is to commence at oh-nine-hundred hours, sir."_

"Understood. One to beam up. Please standby."

_"Standing by, sir."_

I stood, reaching into my pocket.

"Before I go, Captain, I wanted to give you something that I ran across a few days ago," I said, handing Picard a small padd.

"What's this?" he said, examining the padd.

"It's a music album," I said. "In your first year of duty aboard the_Enterprise D_, your crew picked up someone from Earth's twentieth century, a man named Sonny Clemmons. Clemmons was a musician, and went on to gain a small following on the Earth of today. Not to mention Risa, Andor, and surprisingly enough, Vulcan."

"Yes," Picard said. "I remember him. He wanted Data to join him when he left the _Enterprise _to restart his musical career." He activated the padd, and a small holographic projection – the album's cover – arose from the screen. It was a picture of Data, with the album title _That Gold-Skinned Man_ above it. In crystalline clarity, the sound of a guitar playing the opening notes to Irving Berlin's _Blue Skies_filled the courtyard. Picard's eyes misted over. A single tear-drop fell toward the padd, coalescing as it passed through the light of the hologram.

"Apparently," I said softly, "he misses Data too, Captain. Consider it a gift, from one time traveler to another." Picard looked up.

"Thank you, Mike."

"You're welcome, Captain. Farewell, until our next encounter." I tapped my communicator. "Energize."

As the world around me shimmered into a momentary existence of pure energy, the last thing I saw was Picard's face as the corners of his mouth rose in a rueful smile.


	37. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_Captain's Log, Stardate 81604.2. What began as a fantasy for me has turned into a wondrous reality. I am setting out once again as captain of the _Ascension,_placed in my command by Starfleet. I cannot help being a little wistful at the outset of this journey; some of the people whom I would elect to have at my side cannot be here._

_Then again, perhaps somewhere among the bulkheads of this fine vessel, my friends – living and otherwise – truly _are_ here. As Spock would say, there are always possibilities._

_We, like so many before us, are embarking upon a new mission. In the wake of victory, Starfleet has once again turned its attention toward the goal of seeking out new life and new civilizations. I look at my uniform now and see so much more than I ever did before. Responsibility comes with rewards, and my reward lies somewhere out there among the stars. _

_I am looking forward to the privilege of working with a group of people who will, I have no doubt, become the finest crew in Starfleet. Together, we will boldly go where no one – from any time – has gone before._

**THE BEGINNING**

* * *

Author's Note: Captain Michael Allen and his crew will return in "Reality: The Mirage of Lights". 


	38. Acknowledgments

**Acknowledgments**

During the three years that I've spent writing this novel, I have been helped profoundly the guiding hands of several people and numerous sources. In an effort to give the reader a fuller appreciation of the process, I have listed some of them here.

**The Sources**

I have relied heavily, of course, on the six Star Trek television incarnations and the ten films. More specifically, I have utilized the Borg episodes, ranging from "Q Who" to "Endgame". Q and Guinan episodes were also very helpful in the development of the plot, as was the two-part Spock episode "Reunification", and the various mirror/multiple universe episodes. Additionally, in the final chapter, I was inspired by the character Sonny Clemmons from the TNG episode "The Neutral Zone". As for the films, I think that "First Contact" and "Nemesis" speak for themselves as definite points of inspiration. "The Undiscovered Country" evoked the return of the character Valeris, as well as her role in the novel.

Many of the technical details in the book, written or assumed, have come from the long hours I spent as a teenager, faithfully reading "Star Trek: The Magazine". It was one of the most fantastic periodicals I have ever seen published, and it still makes me sad to think that it is gone.

I have found several internet resources very useful during the process of writing this novel. Unfortunately, I cannot list them here, as this website will not post them. Suffice to say, Wikipedia is a fantastic tool.

I have drawn a certain amount of inspiration from some of the Star Trek books, particularly the Q series by Peter David, and the Mirror Universe series by William Shatner.

**The People**

First and foremost, I must thank my part-time beta reader and editor, Shae. Without her, there might have been entire wormholes of plot, stewing in layers of broken jargon that I put in because I thought it was clever. Thanks, Shae.

Secondly, I'd like to thank the faithful trio of friends who have been reading this story almost since its inception: Jen, Andrew, and Melissa, thanks for the support.

Finally, I'd like to thank all of the people who have read and will read this book, and especially those who have taken the time to leave comments. You've kept the fire burning, and I appreciate that.


End file.
